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SELECTIONS 
FROM THE SPECTATOR 

ADDISON STEELE BUDGELL 



The Scribner English Classics. 

Prof. Frederick H. Sykes, Ph.D., Teachers College, Columbia Uni- 
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Edited with notes and biographical sketch. 
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Edited with notes and biographical sketch. 
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Edited with notes and biographical sketch. 
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OTHERS IN PREPARATION. 



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SELECTIONS FROM 
THE SPECTATOR 



EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
BY 

EDWIN FAIRLEY 

BEAD TEACHER OF ENGLISH IN THE JAMAICA HIGH SCHOOL, 
NEW YORK CITY 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1911 




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Copyright, 1911, by 
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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Frontispiece 

Joseph Addison. From a painting by Sir Godfrey 
Kneller 

BIBLIOGRAPHY ix 

INTRODUCTIOx\: 

I. The Life of Joseph Addison xi 

II. The Life of Richard Steele xxii 

III. The Life of Eustace Budgell xxvi 

IV. The Age of "The Spectator": 

History xxvii 

Social Conditions xxx 

V. "The Spectator" as the Forerunner of 

THE Novel xxxiii 

VI. Suggestions for the Teacher xxxiv 

VII. Suggestions for the Student xxxvi 

Text: SELECTIONS FROM "THE SPECTATOR": 

I, The Spectator 3 

II. The Club 7 

III. Sir Roger on Men op Fine Parts .... 12 

IV. A Meeting of the Club 15 

V. Leonora's Library . „ 19 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

VI. The Spectator's Visit to Coverlet 

Hall 23 

VII. The Coverlet Household .... 26 

VIII. Will Wimble 29 

IX. The Coverlet Ancestrt 32 

X. The Coverlet Ghost 36 

XI. A COUNTRT SUNDAT 39 

XII. Sir Roger in Love 42 

XIII. The Shame and Dread of Povertt . 47 

XIV. BoDiLT Exercise 50 

XV. Hunting with Sir Roger 54 

XVI. Moll White 59 

XVII. The Perverse Widow 62 

XVIII. Manners in Town and Countrt . . 66 

XIX. Sir Roger's Poultrtj 69 

XX. The Spectator's Pleasant Dat. . . 72 

XXI. The Training of an Heir 76 

XXII. On Partt Spirit 80 

XXIII. Partt Prejudice 84 

XXIV. Gtpsies • • • • 87 

XXV. Reasons for Leaving the Countrt . 91 

XXVI. The Spectator's Return to London . 94 

XXVII. A Debate between Sir Roger and Sir 

Andrew 97 



CONTENTS vii 

PAGE 

XXVIII. Sir Roger in London 101 

XXIX. Sir Roger in Westminster Abbey . . 105 

XXX. Sir Roger at the Play 108 

XXXI. Sir Roger at Spring Garden ... 112 

XXXII. Death of Sir Roger 115 

XXXIII. Reflections in Westminster Abbey . 118 

XXXIV. The Royal Exchange ...... 121 

XXXV. The Cries of London 124 

XXXVI. The Transmigrations op Pugg the 

Monkey 128 

XXXVII. The Loves of Shalum and Hilpa . . 132 

XXXVIII. The Sequel of the Story of Shalum 

and Hilpa 135 

XXXIX. The Vision of Mirzah 138 

NOTES 143 

INDEX TO NOTES 179 



BRIEF BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Text: 

The Spectator. Henry Morley. 3 vols., 1883, or 1 vol., 1888. 
The Spectator, with introductory essay by Austin Dobson. 
G. Gregory Smith. 8 vols., 1897-8. 

The Complete Works of Addison. G. W. Greene. 6 vols., 
1854; a new edition, 1891. 

The Essays of Joseph Addison. Selected and edited by John 
Richard Green. 1 vol., 1882. 

The Tatler. Chalmers. 4 vols., 1822 (reissued 1855-6). 

Selections from Steele. G. R. Carpenter. 1897. 

Selected Essays from Steele. A. C. Ewald. 1888. 

Biography: 

Life of Joseph Addison. Lucy Aikin. 1843. 
Addison. "English Men of Letters" Series. W. J. Court- 
hope, 1884. 
The Ldfe and Writings of Addison. T. B. Macaulay. 1843. 
The Lives of the Poets — Addison. Samuel Johnson. 1781. 

Lectures on the English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century — 
Addison, Steele. W. M. Thackeray. 1853. 

The Life of Richard Steele. 2 vols. George A. Aitken. 1899. 

Richard Steele. "English Worthies" Series. Austin Dobson. 
1886. 

Biographical Essays — Steele. John Forster. 1860. 

The Dictionary of National Biography — articles on Addison, 
Budgell, Steele, 1885-1900. 

History: 

The Age of Anne. " Epochs of Modern History ' ' Series. E. E. 
Morris. 1877. 

Student's History of England. S. R. Gardiner. 1890. 

ix 



X BRIEF BIBLIOGRAPHY 

History of the English People. Vol. 3. John Richard Green. 

1877-80. 
A History of the Reign of Queen Anne. J. H. Burton. 3 vols., 

1880. 
A History of England in the Eighteenth Century. Vol. 1. 

W. E. H. Lecky. 1878. 
The Reign of Queen Anne. 2 vols. Justin McCarthy. 1902. 

Social Life: 

Social Ldfe in the Reign of Queen Anne. John Ashton. 1882. 

Social England. Vol. 4. H. D. Traill. 1895. 

The History of England. Chapter 3. T. B. Macaulay. 

1849-51. 
England and the English in the Eighteenth Century. W. C. 

Sydney. 1891. 
London in the Eighteenth Century. Walter Besant. 1903. 
Henry Esmond. W. M. Thackeray. 1852. 
The Advertisements of ''The Spectator." Laurence Lewis; 

with an introduction by G. L. Kittredge. 1909. 

Journal to Stella. Jonathan Swift (begun 1710); published 
posthumously. 

Literary Criticism and History: 

A History of Eighteenth Century Literature. Edmund Gosse. 
1889. 

An Illustrated History of English Literature. Vol. 3. Rich- 
ard Garnett and Edmund Gosse. 1903. 

History of English Literature. H. A. Taine. 1863. 



INTRODUCTION 



I.— THE LIFE OF ADDISON 

JOSEPH ADDISON, son of the Rev. Lancelot and Jane 
^ Gulston Addison, was born in Milston rectory, Wiltshire, 
England, on the first of May, 1672. Little is known of his 
mother beyond the fact that she was the daughter of Dr. Na- 
thaniel Gulston and the sister of William Gulston, Bishop of 
Bristol. The Rev. Lancelot Addison, father of Joseph, had a 
rather eventful career, and was a man of strong character and 
of some pretension to literary fame. Educated at Queen's Col- 
lege, Oxford, during the Puritan days, he was still a stanch 
and life-long Royalist. Banished from Oxford for his boldness, 
he sustained himself for a time by acting as chaplain to those 
sturdy squires of Sussex who continued in private to use the 
liturgy of the Church of England in spite of Cromwell's oppo- 
sition. 

When the monarchy was restored in 1660 Lancelot Addi- 
son was made chaplain at Dunkirk, the solitary remnant of 
England's once large domain in France, and when Charles II 
sold Dunkirk to the French, Addison went to Tangier in North- 
ern Africa as chaplain to the garrison there. Here he remained 
for some years, which were not unfruitful, for on his return to 
England he published several volumes, the result of his obser- 
vations, which brought him some fame. He was, in succession, 
rector of Milston, where Joseph was born, archdeacon of Sal- 
isbury, and dean of Lichfield, in which office he died in 1703. 
It is said that he might have been a bishop but for the fact that 
he was always a partisan of the Stuarts and continued to favor 



xii SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

the claims of James II to the throne after the banishment of 
that prince. 

Steele has given us in Tlie Taller a glimpse of the Addison 
household which shows us something of the atmosphere in 
which Joseph grew up. 

**I remember among all my acquaintance but one man 
whom I have thought to live with his children with equanimity 
and a good grace. He had three sons and a daughter, whom he 
bred with all the care imaginable in a liberal and ingenuous 
way. I have often heard him say he had the weakness to love 
one much better than the other, but that he took as much 
pains to correct that as any other criminal passion that could 
arise in his mind. His method was to make it the only pre- 
tension in his children to his favor to be kind to each other, 
and he would tell them that him who was the best brother he would 
reckon the best son. This turned their thoughts into an emu- 
lation for the superiority in kind and tender affection toward 
each other. The boys behaved themselves very early with a 
manly friendship; and their sister, instead of the gross famil- 
iarities and impertinent freedoms in behavior usual in other 
houses, was always treated by them with as much complai- 
sance as any other young lady of their acquaintance. It was an 
unspeakable pleasure to visit or sit at a meal in that family. 
I have often seen the old man's heart flow at his eyes with 
joy upon occasions which would appear indifferent to such as 
were strangers to the turn of his mind; but a very slight acci- 
dent, wherein he saw his children's good-will to one another, 
created in him the godlike pleasure of loving them because 
they loved each other. This great command of himself in 
hiding his first impulse to partiality at last improved to a steady 
justice toward them, and that which at first was but an ex- 
pedient to correct his weakness was afterward the measure 
of his virtue." 

Young Addison received the best education which England 
could afford. As a boy he knew intimately the beautiful Wilt- 
shire country with its clear streams, its deep woods, and its 
fruitful meadows. Perhaps he had these in mind when later 
he wrote in his paraphrase of the twenty-third Psalm; 



INTRODUCTION xiii 

"When in the sultry glebe I faint, 
Or on the thirsty mountain pant, 
To fertile vales and dewy meads 
My weary wandering steps he leads. 
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow, 
Amid the verdant landscape jflow." 



He went early to school, attending for short periods the gram- 
mar schools of Amesbury, Salisbury, and Lichfield, and then 
becoming for a year an inmate of the great Charterhouse in 
London, where began that life-long friendship with his liter- 
ary partner, Richard Steele. The Charterhouse was origi- 
nally Chartreuse, a monastery of Carthusian monks, founded 
in 1371 by Sir Walter Manny and the Bishop of London. In 
1611 it became a hospital for unfortunate gentlemen and a school 
for boys. In 1872 the school was removed to Godalming, in 
Surrey, but the fine old building still remains, the head-quarters 
of the Merchant Taylors' Company. It is the pride of the 
school that it educated not only Addison and Steele, but also 
Thackeray, John Wesley, Grote, the historian of Greece, 
Blackstone, the lawyer, and many another. It is reported that 
Addison was a real boy at school. He is said to have had a 
hand in a barring-out, and to have run away from school at 
one time and to have lived for some time in a hollow tree. In 
Thackeray's The Newcomes may be found several references 
to the old school and its customs. 

From the Charterhouse Addison went up to Queen's College, 
Oxford, in 1687, being then fifteen years old. He took with 
him a precocious ability to make Latin verses, and, for his 
years, a wide acquaintance with Latin literature. It is worth 
noting that Addison's good scholarship was the foundation 
of his fortune. After two years at Queen's Addison was in- 
vited to take a demyship at Magdalen College because of the 
excellence of some Latin verses which came to the attention 
of the President of Magdalen. (A demyship is a half-fellowship 
peculiar to Magdalen.) In due time Addison took the master's 
degree and was made a fellow of his college, a position which 
paid a moderate stipend and yielded an opportunity for quiet 



xiv SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

study, mingled with a little teaching. This fellowship Addi- 
son held from 1698 to 1711, although for much of that time he 
was not in residence. Few memories of his student days at 
Oxford remain for us. He is said to have been studious, shy, 
a good talker when only a few were present, but dumb in a 
large company, and to have done his studying at night. A 
famous walk at Oxford under the elms by the Cherwell is still 
called by his name. 

Addison's literary career, which for convenience we may di- 
vide into three periods, began before his student days at Ox- 
ford were well over. In 1693, the same year in which he took 
his master's degree, he wrote in verse An Account of the Great- 
est English Poets, which is remarkable for its total neglect 
of Shakespeare, and for its lukewarm treatment of Chaucer and 
Spenser, while it exalts Dryden and Cowley to the skies. Evi- 
dently Addison's critical faculty, later so acute, was not devel- 
oped early in his career. 

The first period of Addison's literary career ended in 1704. 
None of the books which he wrote during that time has attained 
a lasting position in English literature, but he was trying his 
'prentice hand and was laying up stores of learning and of 
experience which were of great service to him later on. His 
Latin verses won him praise and some measure of advance- 
ment, and he wrote some notes on Ovid in 1697 which showed 
a distinct advance in critical ability over the comments which he 
had made on the English poets. 

We have seen that Addison's father was a stanch and life- 
long Tory; but his son was all his days a Whig. Perhaps we 
shall find the reason for the change in the condition of things 
in Oxford while Addison was an undergraduate. James II 
had done his best to install a Roman Catholic as President of 
Magdalen College, but he met with stubborn resistance from 
the scholars of that ancient society. jMagdalen, and indeed all 
Oxford, had been intensely loyal to the Stuarts but this had been 
too much even for Magdalen. W^hen Addison gained his demy- 
ship at Magdalen, he found practically the whole college a unit 
in opposition to James and in support of William. The year 
of his entrance upon residence at Magdalen, 1689, was also the 



INTRODUCTION xv 

year of the deposition of James and of the enthronement of 
William and Mary. Addison was only seventeen then, and he 
received such a strong impression of republicanism that he was 
ever after a Whig. The tower of Magdalen is one of the most 
beautiful in England, and it is commonly said at Oxford that 
this is the wall against which James II butted his head. 

In the reign of William and Mary the leaders of the two 
great parties felt the need of attaching to their causes as many 
good writers as possible as a means of influencing public opin- 
ion. The practical freedom of the press had been guaranteed 
by the Revolution of 1689 — the Glorious Revolution, as the 
Whigs called it — and though the debates in Parliament could 
not yet be published, the press opened up a great means of 
influencing public opinion. It was the day, too, of political 
pamphlets, which were frequently printed and widely read. 
Writers, therefore, were relatively in great demand. Keen 
watch was kept of the universities, and if any bright young 
writer began to show his talents the political leaders were likely 
to hear of him and to try to attach him to their several causes. 
So when young Mr. Addison was seen to be making a name for 
himself as a writer, the W^hig leaders cultivated his acquaint- 
ance. Addison had been destined for the ministry of the 
Church of England, and his holding a fellowship at Magdalen 
was contingent on his becoming ordained, but Charles Mon- 
tague, Earl of Halifax, and John Somers, the Lord Chancellor, 
interested themselves in him, and procured for him a pension 
of three hundred pounds a year with the understanding that 
he was to travel and to fit himself for employment in the service 
of the government. The powerful influence of Lord Chancel- 
lor Somers procured the consent of Magdalen College to the 
new arrangement, and so Addison retained his fellowship but 
did not enter the ministry. It is only fair to say, however, that 
Addison was all his life very friendly to the clergy, and was al- 
ways something of a preacher, as readers of The Spectator may 
see for themselves; one smart critic has called him "a par- 
son in a tie-wig." 

In 1699, then, Addison started off for the grand tour of 
Europe which was supposed to put the finishing touches on 



xvi SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

a young man's education, and, in Addison's case, to fit him for 
a political or diplomatic career. With his pension Addison 
was comparatively a rich man. France was naturally the first 
country he visited, not only because it was the nearest neigh- 
bor of England, but also because French was the universal 
language, alike of diplomacy and of culture. In France, accord- 
ingly, Addison spent a year and a half, dividing his time between 
Blois, a provincial town where conversational French was of 
the purest, and Paris and Versailles, then, as now, the gay capi- 
tals of France. Among French literary men whom Addison 
met were Malebranche and Boileau. The latter compli- 
mented the young Englishman on his Latin verses and talked 
much to him of his favorite literary themes; he was very appreci- 
ative of the majestic simplicity of the Greek writers, and had 
learned from them, as Macaulay says, to despise tinsel and 
bombast. It is hardly doubtful that when Addison came to 
write, the precepts of Boileau influenced him toward that sim- 
plicity of style which is one of the distinctions of The Spectator. 
The stay in France was followed by a year in Italy, where he 
saw the cathedrals and highly interesting towns of that land 
which had so lately been the leader in the great Renaissance 
movement. Genoa, Milan, Venice, Florence, Pisa, Rome, and 
many another world-famous city delighted Addison's eyes 
and stored his mind with materials and hints for later use. In 
Venice he saw an absurd play on the death of Cato that may 
have given him the idea of his own Cato, which seems to have 
been begun on this trip. Tennyson makes Ulysses say, 

"I am a part of all that I have met." 

Addison in these years abroad was storing his mind with 
scenes and incidents which were ever afterward a resource to 
him. A storm through which he passed on the Mediterranean 
blossomed later into the poem How are Thy Servants Blest, O 
Lord, and the reader of The Spectator is coming constantly 
upon allusions which date back to these golden days of travel. 
From Italy Addison crossed the Alps into Switzerland, then 
he went to Germany, and last to Holland. In 1702 William 



INTRODUCTION xvii 

the Third died and was succeeded by Anne. Anne did not like 
the Whigs and turned Somers and Halifax out of office. With 
their fall fell also Addison's pension. However, he supported 
himself by acting as tutor to a young Englishman and finished 
his tour. He had, besides, his fellowship at Magdalen, which 
brought him something. It is characteristic of Addison that 
after the fall of Halifax, and when he had nothing to gain from 
his former benefactor, he dedicated to him his Epistle to Halifax^ 
a poem which marks a distinct advance on anything he had yet 
done. The Rev. Lancelot Addison died in 1702, shortly be- 
fore his son's return from the continent. 

The second period of Addison's literary career may be said 
to begin in 1704 with the writing of his poem, The Campaign, in 
celebration of the victory won at Blenheim by the English under 
the Duke of Marlborough, with their continental allies, over the 
French. It was a great victory, and worth celebrating, but 
just as Dryden used to complain of a victory over the French 
because it would occasion such a flood of bad verse, so the Tory 
ministry were disgusted with the poems which their writers 
produced about Blenheim, and turned to Halifax to introduce 
them to a real poet. Halifax had not forgotten Addison, and 
told the Tory ministers that if properly approached he might 
give a poem worthy of the victory. So Addison's poetical 
talents again paved the way to preferment for him. The Cam- 
paign was immediately successful. Everybody praised it, 
especially the simile in which Marlborough is compared to an 
angel directing a whirlwind. 



' 'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved. 
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 
Amidst confusion, horror, and despair. 
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war; 
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 
And taught the doubtful battle how to rage. 
So when an angel by divine command 
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, 



xviii SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed, 
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; 
And pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 
Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." 



Soon after the publication of this poem Addison was given a 
place under the government, and he became in succession 
Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Under Secretary 
of State, and Secretary of State. He was a member of Parlia- 
ment meanwhile, but never shone in debate. He sat for 
Lostwithiel, and afterwards for Malmesbury, from 1710 until 
his death. Occasionally he was out of office, always to the bene- 
fit of his literary fame, for he used his spare time to take up 
his pen. Two works only in this second literary period de- 
mand notice. His Remarks on Several Parts of Italy, a result 
of his recent journey, a graceful but rather commonplace book, 
and his Rosamond, an opera, the heroine of which is Fair Rosa- 
mond, the famous favorite of King Henry II; but the opera 
failed, partly because it was set to poor music and partly be- 
cause it was dramatically weak. 

Addison's third literary period may be said to extend from 
1709 to his death. It is upon the writings of this period that 
his fame rests. While Addison was Under Secretary at Dublin 
Steele began the publication of The Tatler. Though it came out 
anonymously, Addison soon recognized Steele's hand from his 
use in the fifth paper of a simile which Addison himself had first 
called to Steele's attention. Soon he began sending commun- 
ications across the Irish Channel, writing in all 60 papers out 
of the 271 which The Tatler contained. When, for various reas- 
ons, The Tatler was given up, Addison and Steele, after a short 
interval, began the publication of I'he Spectator, which came 
out every week day from the first of May, 1711, to December 
6, 1712, 555 issues. Then on June 18, 1714, it was revived 
and ran as a tri- weekly to December 20, 1714, making a total 
of 635 papers. Addison wrote those which are signed C, L., I., 
or O., the initials of Clio, one of the nine muses, and perhaps 
some other papers, but the exact number is uncertain. The 
plan and purpose of the essays will appear as the student reads 



INTRODUCTION xix 

them. They were immensely popular, circulating in large 
numbers in periodical form and also, later, as bound volumes. 
Between the two periods of The Spectat&r, Steele, with Addison's 
help, brought out The Guardian, which began March 12, 1713, 
and ran daily until October 1, 175 numbers, of which Addison 
wrote 53. It was not nearly so brilliant or so successful as 
The Spectator. Later Addison wrote The Freeholder, a polit- 
ical and satirical periodical, begun December 23, 1715, and dis- 
continued June 9, 1716, which contributes little to his fame, 
though it contains a fine character sketch of Lord Somers 
and the famous figure of the Tory fox-hunter. 

In the interval between the two Spectators Addison found 
time to finish his tragedy, Cato, begun years before. It was 
elaborately staged and had a remarkable run at the Drury 
Lane Theatre in the spring of 1713. Both Whigs and Tories 
united in giving it praise, and it undoubtedly added greatly to 
its author's fame as a literary man. While it is no longer acted, 
it is still read to a moderate degree, and many of its phrases 
have passed into the current coin of popular quotation, as a 
glance at any dictionary of quotations will readily show. One 
other play completes the tale of Addison's dramatic ventures. 
It is The Drummer, produced in 1715, and coldly received. 
Its dramatic power is small, and, though it has traces of Addi- 
son's humor, it does not add anything to his fame. During 
the rest of his life his writings were chiefly political and need 
not concern us here. 

In 1715 occurred, too, Addison's quarrel with Pope, "the 
Wasp of Twickenham," as Lady Mary Wortley Montagu called 
him. Opinions differ as to the merits of the quarrel, but 
Macaulay and Courthope both take Addison's side (see Bib- 
liography, p. ix). It may not be out of place to quote here a 
part of Pope's satire on Addison under the name of Atticus, 
which may be found in Pope's works under the title Epistle 
to Dr. Arhuthnot : 

"Peace to all suchi but were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; 
Blest with each talent and each art to please. 



XX SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

And bom to write, converse, and live at ease: 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes. 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer. 
And without sneering teach the rest to sneer; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; 
Who when two wits on rival themes contest. 
Approves of both, but likes the worst the best; 
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, 
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend; 
Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; 
Like 'Cato,' give his little senate laws, 
And sit attentive to his own applause; 
While wits and Templars every sentence raise, 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise: — 
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? 
Who would not weep, if Amcus were he?" 



In 1716 Addison married the dowager Countess of Warwick. 
She was reputed to be a comely widow whose mature charms 
had long captivated Addison. The courtship was long and 
the lover's hopes were long deferred, but at length, as political 
preferment came to his aid and as his fortune became consid- 
erable, the widow yielded. One of Addison's brothers left him 
a considerable sum, he had made much money by his pen and 
by his offices, so that he was comfortably well off. He had 
bought an estate in Warwickshire, but after the wedding he 
seems to have lived most of the time at Holland House, the 
London home of the Countess. There are rumors that the 
union was not a happy one, but these are uncertain; Addi- 
son himself gave no sign. One child, a daughter, was bom to 
them. She lived to an advanced age but died unmarried. 
It was soon after his marriage to the Countess that Addison 
came to be Secretary of State, an office which he held for nearly 
a year, but was obliged to resign because of the encroachments 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

of the asthma, a disease which finally caused his death on the 
17th of June, 1719, at the age of forty-seven. 

The honor of a burial in Westminster Abbey was accorded 
Addison, where some time after a monument to his memory was 
placed in the Poets' Corner by his admirers. He did not need 
this honor, for his true monument is in his writings and in his 
influence. His writings, especially his contributions to The 
Spectator, seem to be secure in the roll of great works. Every- 
body reads him, and, with scarcely an exception, enjoys him 
and profits by him, both in style and in character. Court- 
hope calls him the *' Chief Architect of Public Opinion in the 
Eighteenth Century." Dr. Johnson, not given to praise over- 
much, says: "Whoever wishes to attain an English style, fa- 
miliar but not coarse and elegant but not ostentatious, must 
give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison." It is 
well known that our own Benjamin Franklin formed his clear 
style by reading The Spectator and then trying to reproduce 
the thought in Addison's style. He says: 

"About this time I met with an old volume of The Spectator. 
It was the third. I had never before seen any of them. I 
bought it, read it over and over, and was much delighted with 
it. I thought the writing excellent, and wished, if possible to 
imitate it. With this view I took some of the papers and, mak- 
ing short hints of the sentiments in each sentence, laid them by 
a few days, and then, without looking at the book, tried to 
complete the papers again. ... I also sometimes jumbled my 
collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks en- 
deavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to 
form the full sentences and complete the paper. This was to 
teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts." 

Macaulay, prejudiced, it is true, in favor of Addison, and 
yet representative of a large body of opinion in England and 
America, ends his famous Essay on Addison with these words, 
alluding to the monument in Westminster Abbey: "Such a 
mark of national respect was due to the unsullied statesman, 
to the accomplished scholar, to the master of pure English 
eloquence, to the consummate painter of life and manners. 
It was due, above all, to the great satirist who alone knew how 



xxii SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

to use ridicule without abusing it; who, without inflicting a 
wound, effected a great social reform, and who reconciled wit 
and virtue after a long and disastrous separation, during which 
wit had been led astray by profligacy, and virtue by fanaticism/' 



II.— THE LIFE OF RICHARD STEELE 

Richard Steele, like Jonathan Swift, was an Englishman 
born in Ireland. Though most of his life was spent in England, 
the Irish environment of his early days may have accounted 
for the keenness of his humor and the buoyancy of his tempera- 
ment. He was born in Dublin, the 12th of March, 1672, and so 
was by six weeks the senior of Addison. Both his father and 
his mother died when he was a small boy, and he passed under 
the care of an uncle who took charge of him until he was old 
enough to enter the famous Charterhouse School. This was 
in 1684, and two years later Addison joined him, beginning a 
friendship which, barring a slight interruption, was life-long. 
We know nothing of Steele's school-days, but Thackeray, in 
his English Humorists, judging that Dick Steele the boy must 
have been father to Dick Steele the man, has given us a delight- 
fully imaginative picture of what he must have been like in the 
Charterhouse days. He says: 

"Besides being very kind, lazy, and good-natured, this boy 
went invariably into debt with the tart-woman; ran out of 
bounds, and entered into pecuniary, or rather promissory, en- 
gagements with the neighboring lollipop venders and piemen; 
exhibited an early fondness and capacity for drinking mum and 
sack; and borrowed from all his comrades who had money to 
lend." 

Thackeray also gives a vivid picture of the way Richard 
Steele looked up to Joseph Addison, the head boy, but as Steele 
was by two years Addison's senior at Charterhouse all that must 
be taken with a grain of salt. 

If Steele preceded Addison at Charterhouse, he did not at 
Oxford, for he was three years later than his friend in matricu- 
lating at Oxford and he chose a different college, Christ Church. 



INTRODUCTION xxiii 

Here he stayed for four years but left without taking a degree, 
enlisting as a private in the Horse Guards because he loved 
change and variety, or, as he himself said, "preferring the state 
of his mind to that of his fortune." We have few glimpses of 
his college life. He seems to have been happy at Oxford and 
to have given some evidence of literary tastes. The army did 
not hold Steele for long, though he rose to be a captain. If he 
saw any active service he never told of it, so it is more than 
probable that our soldier never went into battle. Indeed he 
owed what promotions he gained in the army to his pen rather 
than to his sword. On the death of Queen Mary he wrote a 
poem in the Queen's honor and dedicated it to Lord Cutts, 
praising his ability as a poet, and signing himself "your most 
passionate admirer and most devoted humble servant." This 
won for him a commission as ensign in the Coldstream Guards, 
which Lord Cutts commanded. 

Life in the army in those days was full of temptations and 
pitfalls, to some of which Steele yielded and into some of which 
he fell. He chose a unique way of protecting himself from 
temptation; he wrote a book called The Christian Hero, set- 
ting forth the ideal path in which he ought to walk, in the hope 
that the presence of the ideal in book form might have a com- 
pelling force with him. Whether it did or not is at least doubt- 
ful, but whatever Steele's private life may have been, his pen 
was always enlisted on the side of virtue. The same year, 
1701, which saw the publication of The Christian Hero saw 
also the production of a drama called The Funeral, which had a 
distinct moral purpose. In those days the theatre was notori- 
ously corrupt, even such a great man as Dryden yielding at 
times to the general atmosphere of corruption, but Steele's 
dramas were all pure and bright. I say dramas, for The Funeral 
was followed by others with such titles as The Lying Lover, 
or the Ladies* Friendship, which Steele says was "damned for 
its piety," The Tender Husband, and The Conscious Lovers. 

Steele was twice married. In 1705, the year of The Tender 
Husband, he married Mrs. Margaret Stretch, who died about 
a year later, leaving her husband a considerable property, and 
in September, 1707, he married Miss Mary Scurlock with whom 



xxiv SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

he lived happily until his Meath in 1718. Lady Steele also 
brought her husband a ^comfortable fortune, and with his in- 
come from his writings, and his salary, he should have been 
exceedingly well to do, but, alas, Steele was always improvi- 
dent, always in debt, yet nearly always happy. Many of his 
letters to his wife are extant, which give delightful glimpses 
of the writer as an ardent lover, a congenial friend, and a con- 
firmed spendthrift. At one time he writes: 

"Saturday Night (Aug. 30, 1707). 
Dear Lovely Mrs. Scurlock. — I have been in very good 
company where your health, under the character of the woman I 
loved best, has been often drunk; so that I may say that I am 
dead drunk for your sake, which is more than I die for you. 

Rich. Steele." 

Soon after their marriage he begins writing notes to excuse 
himself for staying out late at night with convivial friends, and 
before very long he writes from retreats where he has fled from 
his creditors, asking for clean linen, his night-gown, and slip- 
pers. Again he sends his wife a little money, but always he is 
the lover, ardent and devoted, though often careless in his treat- 
ment of her. He had at first a town-house and a country-house 
near Hampton Court, but informalities about the payment of 
rent led to many removals, and so his family affairs were often 
involved in confusion. 

In 1706 Steele left the army and in 1707 he was made Gazet- 
teer at a salary of £300. As Gazetteer it was his business to 
edit and publish such of the despatches of the British diplo- 
matic corps as the government saw fit to make public. The 
journal in which this official information was printed was called 
The Gazette. Having thus first-hand acquaintance with for- 
eign news in its most authentic form, Steele formed the plan 
of issuing a journal which should publish some of this news, 
and besides make a running commentary on men and things, 
and give from time to time a little essay on some matter of gen- 
eral interest. So on April 12, 1709, he began The Tatler, a 
paper which came out three times a week until January 2, 1711. 



INTRODUCTION xxv 

After the first few issues Steele called in friends to his aid, so 
that the paper, like The Spectator, was of composite authorship. 
The Tatler was issued anonymously but Steele's identity was 
soon disclosed. We have already seen how Addison discovered 
his friend's hand. Before very long the public was initiated 
into the secret too, and Steele's fame became considerable. 
The Tatler was . exceedingly popular and had a large circula- 
tion for those days. It was clever, readable, and clean, but, 
best of all, it gave Addison and Steele an opportunity to try their 
powers and to make them competent to issue the more am- 
bitious Spectator. 

Two months after The Tatler became silent Steele joined 
his friend Addison in the publication of The Spectator, as we 
have already seen. While Addison's hand was most important 
in the writing of that paper, Steele's share was not inconsidera- 
ble. He first sketched Sir Roger de Coverley and many of the 
best papers are his. At least 236 of The Spectator papers are 
from his hand, and we could ill spare the humor, the pathos, 
and the exemplary morality of the gallant Irish knight. 

Steele lost his gazetteership before The Tatler came to an 
end, but in 1710 he was made a Commissioner of Stamps and 
in 1713 was elected to Parliament from Stockbridge. Always a 
Whig, Steele carried his partisanship to such lengths that he 
was expelled from Parliament for a powerful attack which he 
made on the Tory government in a pamphlet called The Crisis. 
The death of Queen Anne and the accession of King George I 
brought the Whigs again into power, and Steele was not for- 
gotten. He was given a share of the receipts of Drury Lane 
Theatre, which was then a government enterprise, was again 
elected to Parliament, and was knighted by George I in 1715. 
Meanwhile his pen was not idle, though it was scarcely adding 
to his fame. He was editor or joint editor of a number of 
publications, almost all political. We shall have to be con- 
tent with the names only of this list: The Guardian, The Eng- 
lishman, The Lover, The Reader, The Englishman again, and 
The Plebeian. These are now read only by the curious, and 
none of them repeated the success either of The Tatler or The 
Spectator. 



xxvi SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

Steele's latter years were sad and quiet ones. During the 
last year of Addison's life he had a quarrel with that life-long 
friend, a quarrel which was partly political and partly financial. 
The friends found themselves on opposite sides of a political 
question, and Steele imagined that Addison was poking fun 
at him. Then Addison pressed for the return of some money 
which he had lent Steele, and again the latter fdt hurt. Addi- 
son was probably in the right in both matters, and after his 
death no one was louder in his praise or more loyal in his de- 
votion than Steele. It is a thousand pities that any cloud came 
over the long sunshine of the friendship of these two men, each 
of whom owed so much to the other, and whose names will al- 
ways be associated. In 1726 Steele retired to a little estate in 
Wales which had been his second wife's, and there died in 
1729, ten years after Addison, at the age of fifty-seven. 
Thackeray says of him: "Poor Dick Steele stumbled and got 
up again, and got into jail and out again, and sinned and re- 
pented, and loved and suffered, and lived and died, scores of 
years ago. Peace be with him! Let us think gently of one 
who was so gentle; let us speak kindly of one whose own breast 
exuberated with human kindness." 



III.— THE LIFE OF EUSTACE BUDGELL 

Eustace Budgell, like Addison and Steele, was an Oxford 
man. He was the son of Dr. Gilbert Budgell and was born 
at St. Thomas, near Exeter, in 1685. Addison was first cousin 
to his mother. He was a student at Christ Church, Oxford, 
and later a student of law at the Inner Temple, London, so 
that he very likely stands as the original of the Templar in the 
Spectator's Club. Addison took him to Ireland as private sec- 
retary in 1708, and while there he sent over some contribu- 
tions to The Tatler which showed considerable literary ability. 
Later, as a contributor to The Spectator, he developed his talent 
still further. The interested student will do well to compare 
the papers by him in this book with those by Addison and Steele. 
As long as he remained under Addison's protection he seem^ to 



INTRODUCTION xxvii 

have been a decent man, who held with credit a number of 
important offices, chiefly in Ireland. But when Addison went 
to London Budgell quarrelled violently with his superiors and 
became so abusive that he lost all his offices. After Addison's 
death he went from bad to worse. In 1720 he is said to have 
lost £20,000, almost all his fortune, in the famous South Sea 
Bubble. The next year he spent £5,000, the rest of his for- 
tune, in an unsuccessful attempt to get into Parliament, and 
after that time supported himself as a hack-writer and editor 
of scurrilous publications which attacked everything and every- 
body. He is said to have forged thte will of Dr. Matthew Tin- 
dal, but the forgery, if such it was, did him no good, for the 
document was set aside by the courts, and Pope pilloried him 
in the famous couplet in the Prologue to his Satires: 

"Let Budgell charge low Grub Street on his quill, 
And write whate'er he please, except his will." 

In 1736 he left on his desk the pencilled line, "What Cato 
did, and Addison approved, cannot be wrong," loaded his pock- 
ets with stones, and jumped into the Thames from a boat near 
London Bridge, a melancholy example of wasted and mis- 
directed talents. 



IV.—THE AGE OF "THE SPECTATOR" 

HISTORY 

The'Spectator was published during the reign of Queen Anne, 
who sat on the throne of England between 1702 and 1714. 
Anne was the last sovereign of the Stuart line which had come 
in with James I in 1603, so that it lasted a little over a century. 
It cannot be said that any one of the Stuarts had a genius for 
ruling: on the contrary, almost every one of them got into 
trouble with his parliaments or with his people. Charles I 
lost his head in 1649, and there followed eleven years in which 
England was without a king. But the country did not take 
kindly to the republicanism of Cromwell and the Puritans, 



xxviii SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

which was, in its way, as great a despotism as that which it 
displaced, so that when Charles II came to the throne in 1660, 
he was welcomed wildly, and the country gave itself over to 
extravagances in life and morals which lasted well into the next 
century. Charles II left no children of his own to inherit the 
throne, so he was succeeded by his brother, the Duke of York, 
who reigned unhappily as James II for less than four years. 
It seemed to be the great ambition of James II to make Eng- 
land a Roman Catholic country, but against this wish of his he 
found the nation practically a unit; so much so that when in 
1688 a son was born to him, the nation repudiated both father 
and son, sent them out of the country, and invited in their stead 
William of Orange and his wife Mary, who was James II's 
older daughter, to reign as joint sovereigns. James II and his 
son, called later the Old Pretender, withdrew to France, where 
Louis XIV gave them asylum and tried in various ways to 
force them back upon the English people, but all in vain. There 
was in England a considerable party which favored the claims 
of James to the throne; these were the Jacobites. 

Queen Mary died in 1694, but William III reigned until 
1702, when, at his death, he was succeeded by Anne, the younger 
daughter of James II, but a Protestant, as all sovereigns of 
England must be. On the whole hers was one of the most 
brilliant reigns in the history of England. The foreign wars 
of the period were for the most part successful, and brought 
great renown to English soldiers and the English name, and the 
literature, while not rising to the heights of Shakespeare and 
Milton, was yet of such character as would add lustre to any 
age. It was the age not only of Addison and Steele, but of 
Swift, Pope, Defoe, and Prior. English prose was being de- 
veloped into the efficient vehicle we find it. The novel was be- 
ginning. It was a fortunate age for writers. Pope and Addi- 
son made large additions to their fortunes by their pens. In 
fact Queen Anne's reign was of such a character as to win for 
her the title, the Good. The people were fond of Good Queen 
Anne, and were heartily sorry that none of her children lived 
to succeed their mother on the throne of England. 

During the years following the deposition of James II, his 



INTRODUCTION xxix 

friend Louis XIV of France was scheming to put him or his 
son back on the throne of England, and so make that country 
at once Roman Cathohc and French. So England was con- 
stantly on her guard against French intrigues. When the Span- 
ish king died without issue in 1700, Louis XIV is reported to 
have said, as he nominated his grandson, Philip, the Duke of 
Anjou, to the Spanish throne, "The Pyrenees are no more." 
France was already the strongest nation of Europe, and the 
Protestant countries were thoroughly alarmed as to what she 
might do if Spain were joined with her. So a Protestant alli- 
ance was formed to fight the French. The war which followed 
was called the War of the Spanish Succession, because its os- 
tensible object was to prevent Philip from taking the crown of 
Spain, and to put in his place the Archduke Charles. England 
was joined by Holland, Savoy, Portugal, and several German 
states, while some German states ranged themselves on the side 
of France, and the war began which was to last until the Peace 
of Utrecht in 1713. It was to bring undying fame to the Duke 
of Marlborough, the English general, and to Prince Eugene of 
Savoy. In the great battles of Blenheim, Ramillies, Malpla- 
quet, and Oudenarde Marlborough humbled the power of 
France and gave England the important place in European 
politics which she has held ever since. Philip was, to be sure, 
left on the throne of Spain, but anything like a close union of 
France and Spain was prevented. In the New World England 
gained the Hudson Bay Territory, Newfoundland, and Nova 
Scotia. 

The Revolution of 1688 was a Whig revolution, for the 
Whigs were in favor of restricting the power of the sovereign 
and of increasing that of the Parliament. So the War of the 
Spanish Succession was a Whig war, though the Tories were 
obliged to yield it something of their support. Marlborough 
was at first a Tory, but during the course of the war he went 
over to the Whig side, and had large influence over Queen 
Anne through his brilliant and capable wife, Sarah Jennings, 
Duchess of Marlborough, whose friendship for the Queen was 
highly important in deciding questions of public policy. With 
the coming into power of the Whigs the way to political prefer- 



XXX SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

ment lay open for Addison and Steele, as we have seen in the 
biographical sketches. From 1710 to 1714, however, the Tories 
were back in power. Addison was out of office, and we are 
glad he was, for he had leisure to give to the editorship of The 
Spectator. 

It was during the reign of Good Queen Anne that a parlia- 
mentary union was concluded between England and Scotland. 
Since 1603 the two countries had had the same sovereign, but 
their parliaments had been distinct; in 1707 successful ne- 
gotiations were completed for a union of the legislative bodies 
of the two nations. Scotland was given one-twelfth as many 
representatives as England both in the House of Commons 
and in the House of Lords. The flag of the United Kingdom, 
which then received the name of Great Britain, was made by 
placing together the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew, the 
patron saints, respectively, of England and Scotland. One 
hundred years later, when Ireland was joined to Great Britain, 
the red cross of St. Patrick was laid upon the white cross of 
St. Andrew. 

SOCIAL CONDITIONS 

The England of Addison's time had a population of from 
five to seven millions, about what New York State or the city 
of London has to-day. London then overshadowed the rest 
of the country, just as it does now, and was England to all 
practical purposes. - The great manufacturing towns of the 
north and west had not yet arisen, so that the south and east 
were then the most influential parts of the land. Sir Roger de 
Coverley's seat, we are told, was in Worcestershire, a county 
lying in the rich agricultural region in the west of England in 
the valley of the Severn. In the country most of the land was 
in possession of great proprietors who were virtually monarchs 
over their several realms. They lived in comparative state 
in their halls, and passed their days in administering their 
properties, in acting as justices, and in hunting. They drank 
heavily, read little, ate much, and exercised a hospitality which 
was free to all of their own class. Occasionally they went up 
to London, but the dreadful state of the roads and the multi- 



INTRODUCTION xxxi 

tude of highwaymen were not conducive to much travelling, so 
for the most part they stayed at home. The Spectator gives us 
in Sir Roger a picture of what the country squires might well 
be rather than what they really were. The property of these 
landed proprietors, owing to the English law of entail, usually 
descended unbroken to the next of kin. The problem of what 
to do with the younger sons is handled skilfully by Addison 
in his paper on Will Wimble. The relation of the squire to 
his tenants, to his chaplain, and to the administration of justice 
is exceedingly well treated in the essays printed in this book, 
and so needs only to have the attention of the student called 
to it. 

Life in London was more complicated and perhaps more 
interesting than life in the country. The city itself, while the 
largest in the kingdom, had perhaps a quarter of a million 
people only, but it was the capital of the country in every sense 
except the educational: it had no university. The two great 
universities of England then, as now, were Oxford and Cam- 
bridge. Practically all the influential men of the age had been 
trained at one or the other of these seats of learning, if indeed 
they were not Irishmen from Trinity College, like Swift, 
or Scotchmen from Edinburgh, Glasgow, St. Andrews, or 
Aberdeen, the Scotch universities. In its older streets London 
was still a mediaeval town. Roadways were narrow and poorly 
paved. The streets were dirty and pestilences were common. 
Many men of Addison's time could remember the Great 
Plague. On his first visit to London, not long after Addison's 
death, Benjamin Franklin found the streets so filthy that he 
proposed a novel plan for cleaning them: the gutter was to 
be placed in the middle so that the rain or artificial flushing 
would gather all the dirt there, where it could easily be carried 
away. At night, or in the thick fog which occasionally en- 
veloped the city, every progress through the poorly lighted 
streets was an adventure indeed. Linkboys with torches drove 
a thrifty trade in piloting travellers through the inky darkness. 
Night travel was further complicated by the footpads and rob- 
bers whom the inadequate police service of the time seemed un- 
able to control, and a needless horror was added to timid souls 



xxxii SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

by the work of bands of young desperadoes in disguise who way- 
laid respectable citizens and rolled old women down hill in 
barrels, or did other equally pleasant feats for their own amuse- 
ment. These bands often took the dress of North American 
Indians, and named themselves Mohawks, or Mohocks, in 
direct compliment to the fiercest tribe of forest warriors of 
which they had knowledge. Addison's step-son, the Earl of 
Warwick, is said to have been a member of one band of Mohocks. 
Macaulay says: "The great wit and scholar tried to allure the 
young Lord from the fashionable amusements of beating 
watchmen, breaking windows, and rolling women in hogsheads 
down Holborn Hill to the study of letters and the practice of 
virtue." 

All over London were scattered coffee-houses which were 
features of the times. These were public-houses where every 
one was welcome who had the price of a cup of coffee, and that 
was usually only a penny. They were a cross between a club 
and the modern saloon, though usually entirely respectable. 
Here the men of London gathered, each group in its own house. 
Here you could meet men of your own way of life. If you were 
a merchant you went to Jonathan's; if you were a disciple of 
Dryden you went to Will's and found your great master there. 
Later on Addison set up his court at Button's, gathering about 
him his little senate to which he gave his laws, as Pope said. 
The Whig politicians met at the St. James, the Tories at the 
Chocolate House or the Cocoa Tree, as it was sometimes called. 
Both The Taller and The Spectator may be said to have been 
bom in the coffee-houses of London, for a great deal of their 
peculiar atmosphere they gained from the talk of the editors 
and their friends around the steaming cups of coffee at their 
favorite resorts. 

If one is to gain the best possible picture of social conditions 
in England in the reign of Queen Anne the place to gain it is 
in The Spectator. If we had only this book as an authority 
we should still be able to form a good idea of that age. We 
should know something of life in the country: the difficulties 
of travelling, the life in hall and hut, the popular belief in 
witches, the state of the church, the violence of party preju- 



INTRODUCTION xxxiii 

dice; and we should understand city life pretty well too — its 
pleasures and its work, the problems of the professional man 
and of the merchant, the life of the street and of the drawing- 
room, the coffee-houses and the clubs, the theatres and the 
summer gardens, the exchange and the river. It is a world in 
miniature to which Mr. Spectator admits us, a wholesome world, 
and one which it is good to know. 



v.— "THE SPECTATOR" AS THE FORERUNNER 
OF THE ENGLISH NOVEL 

In his Essay on Addison Macaulay says: "The narrative 
which connects together The Spectator's essays gave to our 
ancestors their first taste of an exquisite and untried pleasure." 
He means that up to that time "no novel, giving a lively and 
powerful picture of the common life and manners of England, 
had appeared." Of course there had been prose fiction in 
England before Sir Roger de Coverley came on the scene; men 
have told stories in all ages of the world, and English literature 
is rich in romance and story. In the ages before Shakespeare 
Englishmen had written stories, many of them good ones. 
Malory had produced his Morte DarthuTt More had imagined 
his Utopia, Sir Philip Sidney had written Arcadia, and after 
Shakespeare had appeared the beautiful, lucid allegory. The 
Pilgrim's Progress, the work of John Bunyan, the inspired 
tinker. But nobody before the writers of The Spectator had 
set himself to the task of depicting in imagination the ordinary 
life and character of Englishmen. Of course, plot structure, 
as we now understand it, was lacking, or almost lacking, in 
the story of Sir Roger, but we are able to see the rudiments of 
it in the various adventures of the good old knight. The love 
element, so important in the modern novel, is also present, 
in a rudimentary way, in the story of Sir Roger's love affair 
with the perverse widow. When we come to the delineation 
of character we find it present in the most delightful fashion 
in The Spectator. Sir Roger himself, Will Honeycomb, Will 
Wimble, Hilpa, and Shalum take place easily in the great list 



xxxiv SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

of names which our English novelists have added to our ac- 
quaintance. We feel that we know these people; they are as 
real to us as any characters in history. To have added these 
names to the roll of well-known persons is no small achieve- 
ment for the authors of The Spectator. 

The English may be pardoned for thinking that they, of all 
modern peoples, have done most with the novel as a work of 
art. When we think of Walter Scott, Charles Dickens, George 
Eliot, William Makepeace Thackeray, to say nothing of our 
American Nathaniel Hawthorne, we are led to the opinion that 
in the English language the novel has been made as competent 
a literary form as in any other literature. But the men who 
prepared the ground for all this splendid flowering of genius 
were Addison and Steele, as they poured out day by day from 
the perennial springs of genius within them, the stories which 
have delighted and helped so many generations of readers in 
the last two hundred years. 



VI.— SUGGESTIONS FOR THE TEACHER 

Perhaps it is an impertinence to give suggestions to teachers, 
but the following are offered humbly in the thought that every 
good teacher can learn, even when it is in the way of *' how not 
to do it." 

My first suggestion is. Familiarize yourself with The Spectator. 
If you cannot get a complete copy, the volume of selections ed- 
ited by John Richard Green is perhaps the best, though any 
selection can hardly go far wrong. If you are full of The Spec- 
tator your class can hardly fail to catch something of your en- 
thusiasm. Then, as you have time, read largely in the history, 
the literature, and the life of the age in which The Spectator was 
bom. Any good library will furnish a part at least of the books 
given in the bibliography on page ix, but if you are remote from 
a library get, by hook or by crook, to the reading of Henry 
Esmond, Macaulay's Essay on Addison, and Thackeray's lect- 
ures on Addison, Steele, and Swift in English Humorists. 

Second. Realize that these papers were written by men who 



INTRODUCTION xxxv 

were intensely alive, whose veins were full of red blood, and so 
seek to find their secret in an abounding love of life. Don't use 
them as a sort of dry drill material which every right-minded 
pupil will hate ever afterward with a deadly and righteous 
hatred. Do your best to breathe into your handling of them 
some portion of the breath of life. If the student can be brought 
to read them, and to read them with pleasure, the battle has been 
won, and anything else you want to do will be easy. You may 
even follow Franklin's example and get your pupils to imitate 
The Spectator's style, though it is better for them to have styles 
of their own. They will be interested after a time in writing 
imaginary accounts of Sir Roger under modern conditions. 
The editor has in a scrap-book a paper written by a college 
student thirty years ago which purports to describe a visit which 
Sir Roger made to an agricultural college (a Soil Cultivators' Re- 
treat) and sparkles with a humor at least suggesting Addison. 

Third. Many students can be led with a little judicious 
guiding to study the age which produced The Spectator. The 
history of this time is full of interest. The great campaigns of 
Marlborough, the splendid victories in Spain, the part which 
North America took in the struggle, the emergence of Sweden 
and Russia, are hints of what may be done. Then the great 
men of the period will repay study. Who were they and what 
did they accomplish ? The customs of the day, especially those 
touched upon in The Spectator, open up another fascinating 
avenue of research. The coffee-houses, the drama, gypsies, 
witchcraft, the church, and many others suggest themselves as 
worthy of research. How were boys in that period educated? 
How did authors fare? What were the political parties of the 
day and how did they differ ? Indeed, there is scarcely an end 
to the things which may be done as one studies The Spectator. 

Fourth. Interest may be increased at the beginning by 
varying the order in which the papers are read. Get early into 
some of the lighter narratives, and let the heavier papers wait 
until the student's appetite has been whetted with Will Wimble, 
Moll White, a Country Sunday, and a Visit to the Gypsies. 
My colleague, Miss A. W. Ward, has made this analysis of the 
Sir Roger papers, which may be found useful: 



xxxvi SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

Introduction, Papers 1, 2, 4. 

Country Home Life, 6, 7, 9, 14, 15, 20. 

Sir Roger's Friends, 8, 13. 

Sir Roger's Neighbors, 16, 21, 24. 

Sir Roger in Love, 12, 17, 29. 

Sir Roger's Philosophy, 3, 18, 19. 

Politics, 22, 23, 27. 

Sir Roger in London, 25, 26, 28, 29. 

Sir Roger and Fashionable Life, 30, 31. 

Death of Sir Roger, 32. 

In answer to the question "What shall be done in the class- 
room?" let me say that variety is the spice of a lively class- 
room. Reading aloud is always good and practice in it is 
nearly always needed. Reports on outside reading are valuable 
if they are interesting and brief. Questions to bring out the 
story or the ideas of the essay I have found suggestive. I 
give a sample set of questions on Paper VIII of this book. 
These questions or topics may be used either for oral or for 
written composition. Sometimes one may use them as topics 
for short themes to be written on the blackboard at the begin- 
ning of a recitation, and read and criticised before the close. 

TOPICS ON PAPER VIII 

1. Explain: jack, Eton, may-fly, tulip-root, quail-pipe, physic. 

2. Describe Will Wimble's letter. 

3. Give Sir Roger's account of Will Wimble. 

4. Describe the meeting between Sir Roger and Will Wimble. 

5. Give an account of their dinner. 

6. What is satirized in this paper? 

7. What particularly interested Mr. Spectator in Will 
Wimble? 

VII.— SUGGESTIONS FOR THE STUDENT 

If you will read The Spectator, and learn something about the 
men and the age which produced it, the purpose of this little 
book will be fulfilled. Perhaps the finest accomplishments in 
the world are to know how to read and to love good books. 



INTRODUCTION xxxvii 

For two hundred years men have been reading The Spectator 
and have been calling it a good book. If you don't find it in- 
teresting at first, persevere until you have read at least ten of 
the papers, and as you read try to find out why men have come 
to the conclusion after all these years that this is good literature. 
These papers afford you an opportunity to add considerably 
both to your knowledge and to your culture. The age of Queen 
Anne was one of the great ages in English history and in English 
literature. Find out something about it and broaden out your 
sympathies by the knowledge. Be alert in your reading and 
let nothing escape you. The dictionary, the notes to this edi- 
tion, and the books mentioned in the bibliography will answer 
most of the questions which the reading of the text will raise. 
One of the wisest men I know said to me years ago that it was 
his practice never to let a word or an allusion escape him. He 
has his reward in a head professorship in one of the great 
universities. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



THE SPECTATOR 

[Spectator No. 1. Thursday, March 1, 1711. Addison.] 

Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem 
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat. 

— Horace 
["One with a flash begins, and ends in smoke; 
Another out of smoke brings glorious light, 
And (without raising expectation high) 
Surprises us with dazzling miracles." 

— Roscommon.] 

T HAVE observed that a reader seldom peruses a book with 
*■ pleasure till he knows whether the writer of it be a black 
or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a 
bachelor, with other particulars of the like nature that conduce 
very much to the right understanding of an author. To gratify 5 
this curiosity, which is so natural to a reader, I design this paper 
and my next as prefatory discourses to my following writings, 
and shall give some account in them of the several persons that 
are engaged in this work. As the chief trouble of compiling, 
digesting, and correcting will fall to my share, I must do myself 10 
the justice to open the work with my own history. I was bom 
to a small hereditary estate, which, according to the tradition of 
the village where it lies, was bounded by the same hedges and 
ditches in William the Conqueror's time that it is at present, and 
has been delivered down from father to son whole and entire, 15 
without the loss or acquisition of a single field or meadow, during 
the space of six hundred years. There runs a story in the family, 
that my mother dreamt that she was brought to bed of a judge: 

3 



4 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

whether this might proceed from a law-suit which was then de- 
pending in the family, or my father's being a justice of the peace, 
I cannot determine ; for I am not so vain as to think it presaged 
any dignity that I should arrive at in my future life, though that 
5 was the interpretation which the neighborhood put upon it. The 
gravity of my behavior at my very first appearance in the world 
seemed to favor my mother's dream; for, as she has often told 
me, I threw away my rattle before I was two months old, and 
would not make use of my coral till they had taken away the 

10 bells from it. 

As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it re- 
markable, I shall pass it over in silence. I find that, during my 
nonage, I had the reputation of a very sullen youth, but was 
always a favorite of my school-master, who used to say that my 

15 'parts were solid and wmdd wear luelL I had not been long at 
the University before I distinguished myself by a most profound 
silence; for during the space of eight years, excepting in the public 
exercises of the college, I scarce uttered the quantity of an hun- 
dred words; and indeed do not remember that I ever spoke three 

20 sentences together in my whole life. Whilst I was in this learned 
body, I applied myself with so much diligence to my studies that 
there are very few celebrated books, either in the learned or the 
modern tongues, which I am not acquainted with. 

Upon the death of my father, I was resolved to travel into 

25 foreign countries, and therefore left the University with the char- 
acter of an odd, unaccountable fellow, that had a great deal of 
learning if I would but show it. An insatiable thirst after knowl- 
edge carried me into all the countries of Europe in which there 
was anything new or strange to be seen; nay, to such a degree 

30 was my curiosity raised, that having read the controversies of 
some great men concerning the antiquities of Egypt, I made a 
voyage to Grand Cairo, on purpose to take the measure of a pyra- 
mid; and as soon as I had set myself right in that particular, 
returned to my native country with great satisfaction. 

35 I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am fre- 
quently seen in most public places, though there are not above 
half a dozen of my select friends that know me; of whom my next 
paper shall give a more particular account. There is no place 



THE SPECTATOR 5 

of general resort wherein I do not often make my appearance; 
sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a round of politi- 
cians at Will's, and listening with great attention to the narratives 
that are made in those little circular audiences. Sometimes I 
smoke a pipe at Child's, and whilst I seem attentive to nothing 5 
but The Postman, overhear the conversation of every table in the 
room. I appear on Sunday nights at St. James's Coffee-house, 
and sometimes join the little committee of politics in the Inner 
room, as one who comes there to hear and improve. My face is 
likewise very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa-Tree, and in 10 
the theatres both of Drury Lane and the Hay-Market. I have 
been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange for above these 
ten years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in the assembly of stock- 
jobbers at Jonathan's. In short, wherever I see a cluster of 
people, I always mix with them, though I never open my lips 15 
but in my own club. 

Thus I live in the world rather as a Spectator of mankind 
than as one of the species; by which means I have made myself 
a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant, and artisan, without 
ever meddling with any practical part in life. I am very well 20 
versed in the theory of an husband or a father, and can discern 
the errors in the economy, business, and diversion of others 
better than those who are engaged in them; as standers-by dis- 
cover blots which are apt to escape those who are in the game. 
I never espoused any party with violence, and am resolved to 25 
observe an exact neutrality between the Whigs and Tories, un- 
less I shall be forced to declare myself by the hostilites of either 
side. In short, I have acted in all the parts of my life as a 
looker-on, which is the character I intend to preserve in this 
paper. 30 

I have given the reader just so much of my history and char- 
acter as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified for the 
business I have undertaken. As for other particulars in my 
life and adventures, I shall insert them in following papers as 
I shall see occasion. In the meantime, when I consider how 35 
much I have seen, read, and heard, I begin to blame my own 
taciturnity: and since I have neither time nor inclination to com- 
municate the fulness of my heart in speech, I am resolved to do 



6 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

it in writing, and to print myself out, if possible, before I die. I 
have been often told by my friends that it is pity so many useful 
discoveries which I have made, should be in the possession of a 
silent man. For this reason, therefore, I shall publish a sheetful 
5 of thoughts every morning for the benefit of my contemporaries; 
and if I can in any way contribute to the diversion or improve- 
ment of the country in which I live, I shall leave it, when I am 
summoned out of it, with the secret satisfaction of thinking 
that I have not lived in vain. 

10 There are three very material points which I have not spoken 
to in this paper, and which, for several important reasons, I must 
keep to myself, at least for some time: I mean, an account of 
my name, my age, and my lodgings. I must confess, I would 
gratify my reader in anything that is reasonable; but, as for 

15 these three particulars, though I am sensible they might tend 
very much to the embellishment of my paper, I cannot yet 
come to a resolution of communicating them to the public. 
They would indeed draw me out of that obscurity which I have 
enjoyed for many years, and expose me in public places to sev- 

20 eral salutes and civilities which have been always very disagree- 
able to me; for the greatest pain I can suffer is the being talked 
to and being stared at. It is for this reason, likewise, that I 
keep my complexion and dress as very great secrets, though it 
is not impossible but I may make discoveries of both in the 

25 progress of the work I have undertaken. 

After having been thus particular upon myself, I shall in to- 
morrow's paper give an account of those gentlemen who are con- 
cerned with me in this work; for, as I have before intimated, 
a plan of it is laid and concerted (as all other matters of impor- 

30 tance are) in a club. However, as my friends have engaged me 
to stand in the front, those who have a mind to correspond with 
me may direct their letters To the Spectator, at Mr. Buckley^Sy 
in Little Britain. For I must further acquaint the reader that, 
though our club meets only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we 

35 have appointed a committee to sit every night, for the inspection 
of all such papers as may contribute to the advancement of the 
public weal. C. 



THE CLUB 



II 



THE CLUB 

[Spectator No. 2. Friday, March 2, 1711. Steele.] 

Ast alii sex, 

Et plures, uno conclamant ore, 

— Juvenal. 

("Six more, at least, join their consenting voice."] 

The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of 
ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Roger de Coverley. 
His great-grandfather was inventor of that famous country- 
dance which is called after him. All who know that shire are 
very well acquainted with the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He 5 
is a gentleman that is very singular in his behavior, but his sin- 
gularities proceed from his good sense, and are contradictions to 
the manners of the world only as he thinks the world is in 
the wrong. However, this humor creates him no enemies, for 
he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being un- 10 
confined to modes and forms, makes him but the readier and 
more capable to please and oblige all who know him. When he 
is in town, he lives in Soho Square. It is said he keeps himself 
a bachelor by reason he was crossed in love by a perverse, beau- 
tiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disappoint- 15 
ment. Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often 
supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, fought 
a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson 
in a public coffee-house for calling him "youngster." But being 
ill-used by the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious for 20 
a year and a half; and though, his temper being naturally jovial, 
he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself, and never 
dressed afterward. He continues to wear a coat and doublet 
of the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, 
which, in his merry humors, he tells us, has been in and out 25 
twelve times since he first wore it. 'Tis said Sir Roger grew hum- 
ble in his desires after he had forgot this cruel beauty; but this 
is looked upon by his friends rather as matter of raillery than 



S SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

truth. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and 
hearty; keeps a good house in both town and country; a great 
lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful cast in his behavior 
that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, 
5 his servants look satisfied, all the young women profess love to 
him, and the young men are glad of his company; when he 
comes into a house he calls the servants by their names, and 
talks all the way up stairs to a visit. I must not omit that Sir 
Roger is a justice of the quorum; that he fills the chair at a 

10 quarter-session with great abilities; and, three months ago, 
gained universal applause by explaining a passage in the Game 
Act. 

The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is 
another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple; a 

15 man of great probity, wit, and understanding; but he has chosen 
his place of residence rather to obey the direction of an old 
humorsome father, than in pursuit of his own inclinations. 
He was placed there to study the laws of the land, and is the 
most learned of any of the house in those of the stage. Aristotle 

20 and Longinus are much better understood by him than Littleton 
or Coke. The father sends up, every post, questions relating 
to marriage-articles, leases, and tenures, in the neighborhood; 
all which questions he agrees with an attorney to answer and 
take care of in the lump. He is studying the passions them- 

25 selves, when he should be inquiring into the debates among 
men which arise from them. He knows the argument of each 
of the orations of Demosthenes and Tully, but not one case in 
the reports of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, 
but none, except his intimate friends, know he has a great deal 

30 of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and 
agreeable; as few of his thoughts are drawn from business, they 
are most of them fit for conversation. His taste of books is a 
little too just for the age he lives in; he has read all, but ap- 
proves of very few. His familiarity with the customs, man- 

35 ners, actions, and writings of the ancients makes him a very 
delicate observer of what occurs to him in the present world. 
He is an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of 
business; exactly at five he passes through New Inn, crosses 



THE CLUB 9 

through Russell Court, and takes a turn at Will's till the play 
begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at 
the barber's as you go into the Rose. It is for the good of the 
audience when he is at a play, for the actors have an ambi- 
tion to please him. 5 

The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, 
a merchant of great eminence in the city of London, a person 
of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great experience. 
His notions of trade are noble and generous, and (as every rich 
man has usually some sly way of jesting which would make no 10 
great figure were he not a rich man) he calls the sea the British 
Common. He is acquainted with commerce in all its parts, and 
will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend 
dominion by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and in- 
dustry. He will often argue that if this part of our trade were 15 
well cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if another, 
from another. I have heard him prove that diligence makes 
more lasting acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined 
more nations than the sword. He abounds in several frugal 
maxims, amongst which the greatest favorite is, "A penny saved 20 
is a penny got." A general trader of good sense is pleasanter 
company than a general scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natu- 
ral unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives 
the same pleasure that wit would in another man. He has 
made his fortunes himself, and says that England may be richer 25 
than other kingdoms by as plain methods as he himself is richer 
than other men; though at the same time I can say this of him, 
that there is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship 
in which he is an owner. 

Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain Sentry, a 30 
gentleman of great courage, good understanding, but invincible 
modesty. . He is one of those that deserve very well, but are 
very awkward at putting their talents within the observation of 
such as should take notice of them. . He was some years a 
captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry in several 35 
engagements and at several sieges; but having a small estate 
of his own, and being next heir to Sir Roger, he has quitted a 
way of life in which no man can rise suitably to his merit who 



10 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

is not something of a courtier as well as a soldier. I have heard 
him often lament that in a profession where merit is placed in 
so conspicuous a view, impudence should get the better of 
modesty. When he has talked to this purpose I never heard him 
5 make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left the world 
because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even, 
regular behavior are in themselves obstacles to him that must 
press through crowds who endeavor at the same end with him- 
self, — the favor of a commander. He will, however, in this 

10 way of talk, excuse generals for not disposing according to 
men's desert, or inquiring into it, "For," says he, "that great 
man who has a mind to help me, has as many to break through 
to come at me as I have to come at him"; therefore he will 
conclude that the man who would make a figure, especially in a 

15 military way, must get over all false modesty, and assist his 
patron against the importunity of other pretenders by a proper 
assurance in his own vindication. He says it is a civil coward- 
ice to be backward in asserting what you ought to expect, as it 
is a military fear to be slow in attacking when it is your duty. 

20 With this candor does the gentleman speak of himself and 
others. The same frankness runs through all his conversation. 
The military part of his life has furnished him with many ad- 
ventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the 
company; for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to 

25 command men in the utmost degree below him; nor ever too 
obsequious from an habit of obeying men highly above him. 

But that our society may not appear a set of humorists unac- 
quainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have 
among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, 

30 according to his years, should be in the decline of his life, but 
having ever been very careful of his person, and always had a 
very easy fortune, time has made but very little impression either 
by wrinkles on his forehead or traces in his brain. His person 
is well turned and of a good height. He is very ready at that 

35 sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. He 
has all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits as others 
do men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs 
easily. He knows the history of every mode, and can inform 



THE CLUB 11 

you from which of the French king's wenches our wives and 
daughters had this manner of curling their hair, that way of 
placing their hoods; whose frailty was covered by such a sort 
of petticoat, and whose vanity to show her foot made that part 
of the dress so short in such a year. In a word, all his conver- 5 
sation and knowledge has been in the female world. As other 
men of his age will take notice to you what such a minister said 
upon such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the 
Duke of Monmouth danced at court such a woman was then 
smitten, another was taken with him at the head of his troop 10 
in the Park. In all these important relations, he has ever about 
the same time received a kind glance or a blow of a fan from 
some celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one. 
If you speak of a young commoner that said a lively thing in 
the House, he starts up: "He has good blood in his veins; Tom 15 
Mirabell, the rogue, cheated me in that affair; that young fel- 
low's mother used me more like a dog than any woman I ever 
made advances to." This way of talking of his very much en- 
livens the conversation among us of a more sedate turn; and I 
find there is not one of the company but myself, who rarely 20 
speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort of man who is usu- 
ally called a well-bred, fine gentleman. To conclude his char- 
acter, where women are not concerned, he is an honest, worthy 
man. 

I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am next 25 
to speak of as one of our company, for he visits us but seldom; 
but when he does, it adds to every man else a new enjoyment of 
himself. He is a clergyman, a very philosophic man, of general 
learning, great sanctity of life, and the most exact good breeding. 
He has the misfortune to be of a very weak constitution, and 30 
consequently cannot accept of such cares and business as pre- 
ferments in his function would oblige him to; he is therefore 
among divines what a chamber-counsellor is among lawyers. 
The probity of his mind and the integrity of his life create him 
followers, as being eloquent or loud advances others. He sel- 35 
dom introduces the subject he speaks upon; but we are so far 
gone in years that he observes, when he is among us, an ear- 
nestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which he always 



12 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

treats with much authority, as one who has no interests in this 
world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, 
and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These are 
my ordinary companions. 



R. 



Ill 



SIR ROGER ON MEN OF FINE PARTS 

[Spectator No. 6. Wednesday, March 7, 1711. Steele.] 

Credebant hoc grande nefas, et morte piandum, 

Si juvenis vetulo non assurrexerat . 

— Juvenal. 

["'Twas impious then (so much was age revered) 
For youth to keep their seats when an old man appeared."] 

5 I KNOW no evil under the sun so great as the abuse of the 
understanding, and yet there is no one vice more common. It 
has diffused itself through both sexes and all qualities of man- 
kind, and there is hardly that person to be found who is not 
more concerned for the reputation of wit and sense, than 

10 honesty and virtue. But this unhappy affectation of being wise 
rather than honest, witty than good-natured, is the source of 
most of the ill habits of life. Such false impressions are owing 
to the abandoned writings of men of wit, and the awkward 
imitation of the rest of mankind. 

15 For this reason. Sir Roger was saying last night that he was 
of opinion that none but men of fine parts deserve to be hanged. 
The reflections of such men are so delicate upon all occurrences 
which they are concerned in, that they should be exposed to 
more than ordinary infamy and punishment for offending against 

20 such quick admonitions as their own souls give them, and blunt- 
ing the fine edge of their minds in such a manner that they are 
no more shocked at vice and folly than men of slower capacities. 
There is no greater monster in being than a very ill man of 
great parts. He lives like a man in a palsy, with one side of 

25 him dead. While perhaps he enjoys the satisfaction of luxury, 
of wealth, of ambition, he has lost the taste of good-will, of 



SIR ROGER ON MEN OF FINE PARTS 13 

friendship, of innocence. Scarecrow, the beggar in Lincoln's- 
Inn-Fields, who disabled himself in his right leg and asks alms 
all day to get himself a warm supper at night, is not half so 
despicable a wretch as such a man of sense. The beggar has 
no relish above sensations; he jBnds rest more agreeable than 5 
motion, and while he has a warm fire, never reflects that he 
deserves to be whipped. 

"Every man who terminates his satisfaction and enjoyments 
within the supply of his own necessities and passions, is," says 
Sir Roger, "in my eye, as poor a rogue as Scarecrow. But," lO 
continued he, "for the loss of public and private virtue we are 
beholden to your men of fine parts, forsooth; it is with them no 
matter what is done, so it is done with an air. But to me, 
who am so whimsical in a corrupt age as to act according to 
nature and reason, a selfish man in the most shining circum- 15 
stance and equipage appears in the same condition with the 
fellow above-mentioned, but more contemptible in proportion 
to what more he robs the public of and enjoys above him. I 
lay it down therefore for a rule, that the whole man is to move 
together; that every action of any importance is to have a pros- 20 
pect of public good; and that the general tendency of our 
indifferent actions ought to be agreeable to the dictates of rea- 
son, of religion, of good-breeding: without this, a man, as I 
have before hinted, is hopping instead of walking; he is not in 
his entire and proper motion." 25 

While the honest knight was thus bewildering himself in 
good starts, I looked intentively upon him, which made him, 
I thought, collect his mind a little. "What I aim at," says he, 
"is to represent that I am of opinion, to polish our understand- 
ings and neglect our manners is of all things the most inexcus- 30 
able. Reason should govern passion, but instead of that, you 
see, it is often subservient to it; and as unaccountable as one 
would think it, a wise man is not always a good man." 

This degeneracy is not only the guilt of particular persons, 
but also at some times of a whole people; and perhaps it may 35 
appear upon examination that the most polite ages are the 
least virtuous. This may be attributed to the folly of admitting 
wit and learning as merit in themselves, without considering the 



14 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

application of them. By this means it becomes a rule not so 
much to regard what we do, as how we do it. But this false 
beauty will not pass upon men of honest minds and true taste. 
Sit Richard Blackmore says, with as much good sense as virtue: 
5 " It is a mighty dishonor and shame to employ excellent facul- 
ties and abundance of wit, to humor and please men in their 
vices and follies. The great Enemy of Mankind, notwithstand- 
ing his wit and angelic faculties, is the most odious being in the 
whole creation." He goes on soon after to say, very generously, 

10 that he undertook the writing of his poem " to rescue the Muses, 
to restore them to their sweet and chaste mansions, and to en- 
gage them in an employment suitable to their dignity." This 
certainly ought to be the purpose of every man who appears in 
public, and whoever does not proceed upon that foundation, 

15 injures his country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When 
modesty ceases to be the chief ornament of one sex and in- 
tegrity of the other, society is upon a wrong basis, and we shall 
be ever after without rules to guide our judgment in what is really 
becoming and ornamental. Nature and reason direct one thing, 

20 passion and humor another. To follow the dictates of these 
two latter, is going into a road that is both endless and intricate ; 
when we pursue the other, our passage is delightful, and what 
we aim at easily attainable. 

I do not doubt but England is at present.as polite a nation as 

25 any in the world; but any man who thinks can easily see that 
the affectation of being gay and in fashion has very near eaten 
up our good sense and our religion. Is there anything so just, as 
that mode and gallantry should be built upon exerting ourselves 
in what is proper and agreeable to the institutions of justice and 

50 piety among us? And yet is there anything more common, 
than that we run in perfect contradiction to them? All which 
is supported by no other pretension than that it is done with 
what we call a good grace. 

Nothing ought to be held laudable, or becoming, but what 

35 nature itself should prompt us to think so. Respect to all kind 
of superiors is founded, methinks, upon instinct; and yet what 
is so ridiculous as age? I make this abrupt transition to the 
mention of this vice more than any other, in order to introduce 



A MEETING OF THE CLUB 15 

a little story, which I think a pretty instance that the most polite 
age is in danger of being the most vicious. 

It happened at Athens, during a public representation of 
some play exhibited in honor of the commonwealth, that an 
old gentleman came too late for a place suitable to his age and 5 
quality. Many of the young gentlemen who observed the diffi- 
culty and confusion he was in, made signs to him that they 
would accommodate him if he came where they sat. The 
good man bustled through the crowd accordingly; but when he 
came to the seats to which he was invited, the jest was to sit 10 
close and expose him, as he stood out of countenance, to the 
whole audience. The frolic went round all the Athenian 
benches. But on those occasions there were also particular 
spaces assigned for foreigners. When the good man skulked 
toward the boxes appointed for the Lacedemonians, that hon- 15 
est people, more virtuous than polite, rose up all to a man, 
and with the greatest respect received him among them. The 
Athenians being suddenly touched with a sense of the Spartan 
virtue and their own degeneracy, gave a thunder of applause; 
and the old man cried out, "The Athenians understand what is 20 
good, but the Lacedemonians practise it." 

R. 

IV 

A MEETING OF THE CLUB 

[Spectator No. 34. Monday, April 9, 1711. Addison.] 

Parcit 

Cognatis maculis similis fera . 

— Juvenal. 

["From spotted skins the leopard does refrain." — Tate.] 

The club of which I am a member is very luckily composed 
of such persons as are engaged in different ways of life, and 
deputed as it were out of the most conspicuous classes of man- 
kind. By this means I am furnished with the greatest variety 25 
of hints and materials, and know everything that passes in the 
different quarters and divisions, not only of this great city, but 
of the whole kingdom. My readers, too, have the satisfaction 



16 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

to find that there is no rank or degree among them who have not 
their representative in this club, and that there is always some- 
body present who will take care of their respective interests, that 
nothing may be written or published to the prejudice or infringe- 
5 ment of their just rights and privileges. 

I last night sat very late in company with this select body 
of friends, who entertained me with several remarks which they 
and others had made upon these my speculations, as also with 
the various success which they had met with among their several 

10 ranks and degrees of readers. Will Honeycomb told me, in the 
softest manner he could, that there were some ladies (" But for 
your comfort," says Will, "they are not those of the most wit") 
that were offended at the liberties I had taken with the opera 
and the puppet-show; that some of them were likewise very 

15 much surprised that I should think such serious points as the 
dress and equipage of persons of quality, proper subjects for 
raillery. 

He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him up 
short, and told him that the papers he hinted at had done great 

20 good in the City, and that all their wives and daughters were the 
better for them; and further added that the whole City thought 
themselves very much obliged to me for declaring my generous 
intentions to scourge vice and folly as they appear in a multi- 
tude, without condescending to be a publisher of particular 

25 intrigues. "In short," says Sir Andrew, "if you avoid that 
foolish beaten road of falling upon aldermen and citizens, and 
employ your pen upon the vanity and luxury of courts, your 
paper must needs be of general use." 

Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew "that he 

30 wondered to hear a man of his sense talk after that manner; that 
the City had always been the province for satire; and that the 
wits of King Charles's time jested upon nothing else during his 
whole reign." He then shewed, by the examples of Horace, 
Juvenal, Boileau, and the best writers of every age, that the 

35 follies of the stage and court had never been accounted too sacred 
for ridicule, how great soever the persons might be that pat- 
ronized them. " But after all," says he, " I think your raillery 
has made too great an excursion, in attacking several persons 



A MEETING OF THE CLUB 17 

of the Inns of Court; and I do not believe you can show me any 
precedent for your behavior in that particular." 

My good friend Sir Roger de Coverley, who had said nothing 
all this while, began his speech with a "Pish!" and told us that 
he wondered to see so many men of sense so very serious upon 5 
fooleries. "Let our good friend," says he, "attack every one 
that deserves it; I would only advise you, Mr. Spectator" 
(applying himself to me), "to take care how you meddle with 
country squires. They are the ornaments of the English nation ; 
men of good heads and sound bodies! and, let me tell you, some 10 
of them take it ill of you that you mention fox-hunters with so 
little respect." 

Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. What 
he said was only to commend my prudence in not touching upon 
the army, and advised me to continue to act discreetly in that 15 
point. 

By this time I found every subject of my speculations was 
taken away from me by one or other of the club, and began to 
think myself in the condition of the good man that had one wife 
who took a dislike to his gray hairs, and another to his black, 20 
till by their picking out what each of them had an aversion to, 
they left his head altogether bald and naked. 

While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend the 
clergyman, who, very luckily for me, was at the club that night, 
undertook my cause. He told us that he wondered any order 25 
of persons should think themselves too considerable to be ad- 
vised. That it was not quality, but innocence, which exempted 
men from reproof. That vice and folly ought to be attacked 
wherever they could be met with, and especially when they were 
placed in high and conspicuous stations of life. He further 30 
added, that my paper would only serve to aggravate the pains of 
poverty, if it chiefly exposed those who are already depressed, 
and in some measure turned into ridicule, by the meanness of 
their conditions and circumstances. He afterward proceeded to 
take notice of the great use this paper might be of to the public, 35 
by reprehending those vices which are too trivial for the chastise- 
ment of the law and too fantastical for the cognizance of the 
pulpit. He then advised me to prosecute my undertaking with 



18 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

cheerfulness, and assured me that whoever might be displeased 
with me, I should be approved by all those whose praises do 
honor to the persons on whom they are bestowed. 
The whole club pays a particular deference to the discourse of 
5 this gentleman and are drawn into what he says, as much by the 
candid and ingenuous manner with which he delivers himself as 
by the strength of argument and force of reason which he makes 
use of. Will Honeycomb immediately agreed that what he had 
said was right, and that, for his part, he would not insist upon 

10 the quarter which he had demanded for the ladies. Sir Andrew 
gave up the City with the same frankness. The Templar would 
not stand out, and was followed by Sir Roger and the Captain — 
who all agreed that I should be at liberty to carry the war into 
what quarter I pleased, provided I continued to combat with 

15 criminals in a body and to assault the vice without hurting the 
person. 

This debate, which was held for the good of mankind, put 
me in mind of that which the Roman triumvirate were formerly 
engaged in for their destruction. Every man at first stood hard 

20 for his friend, till they found that by this means they should spoil 
their proscription ; and at length, making a sacrifice of all their ac- 
quaintance and relations, furnished out a very decent execution. 
Having thus taken my resolution to march on boldly in the 
cause of virtue and good sense and to annoy their adversaries 

25 in whatever degree or rank of men they may be found, I shall 
be deaf for the future to all the remonstrances that shall be made 
to me on this account. If Punch grows extravagant, I shall rep- 
rimand him very freely. If the stage becomes a nursery of folly 
and impertinence, I shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it. 

30 In short, if I meet with anything in City, court, or country, that 
shocks modesty or good manners, I shall use my utmost en- 
deavors to make an example of it. I must, however, entreat 
every particular person who does me the honor to be a reader 
of this paper, never to think himself, or any one of his friends 

35 or enemies, aimed at in what is said; for I promise him never 
to draw a faulty character which does not fit a thousand people; 
or to publish a single paper that is not written in the spirit of 
benevolence and with a love to mankind. C. 



I 



LEONORA'S LIBRARY 19 



LEONORA S LIBRARY 

[Spectator No. 37. Thursday, April 12, 171L Addison.] 

Non ilia colo calathisve Minervae 

Femineas assueta manus . 

— Vergil. 
["Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskilled." — Dryden.] 

Some months ago, my friend Sir Roger, being in the country, 
enclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain lady whom I shall 
here call by the name of Leonora, and as it contained matters 
of consequence, desired me to deliver it to her with my own hand. 
Accordingly I waited upon her ladyship pretty early in the mom- 5 
ing and was desired by her woman to walk into her lady's library, 
till such time as she was in a readiness to receive me. The very 
sound of a lady's library gave me a great curiosity to see it; and 
as it was some time before the lady came to me, I had an oppor- 
tunity of turning over a great many of her books, which were 10 
ranged together in a very beautiful order. At the end of the 
folios (which were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of china 
placed one above another in a very noble piece of architecture. 
The quartos were separated from the octavos by a pile of smaller 
vessels, which rose in a delightful pyramid. The octavos were 15 
bounded by tea-dishes of all shapes, colors, and sizes, which 
were so disposed on a wooden frame that they looked like one 
continued pillar indented with the finest stroke of sculpture and 
stained with the greatest variety of dyes. 

That part of the library which was designed for the reception 20 
of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers, was enclosed 
in a kind of square, consisting of one of the prettiest grotesque 
works that ever I saw, and made up of scaramouches, lions, 
monkeys, mandarins, trees, shells, and a thousand other odd 
figures in china-ware. In the midst of the room was a little japan 25 
table, with a quire of gilt paper upon it, and on the paper a silver 
snuff-box made in the shape of a little book. I found there were 
several other counterfeit books upon the upper shelves, which 



20 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

were carved in wood, and served only to fill up the number, like 
fagots in the muster of a regiment. I was wonderfully pleased 
with such a mixed kind of furniture as seemed very suitable both 
to the lady and the scholar, and did not know, at first, whether 
5 I should fancy myself in a grotto or in a library. 

Upon looking into the books, I found there were some few 

which the lady had bought for her own use; but that most of 

them had been got together, either because she had heard them 

praised or because she had seen the authors of them. Among 

10 several that I examined, I very well remember these that follow: 

Ogilby's Virgil. 

Dryden's Juvenal. 

Cassandra. 

Cleopatra. 
15 Astrcea. 

Sir Isaac Newton's Works. 

The Grand Cyrus; with a pin stuck in one of the middle 
leaves. 

Pembroke's Arcadia. 
20 Locke, On the Human Understanding; with a paper of 
patches in it. 

A spelling-book. 

A dictionary for the explanation of hard words. 

Sherlock Upon Death. 
25 The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony. 

Sir William Temple's Essays. 

Father Malebranche's Search after Truth; translated into 
English. 

A book of novels. 
30 The Academy of Compliments. 

The Ladies' Calling. 

Tales in Verse, by Mr. D'Urfey; bound in red leather, gilt on 
the back, and doubled down in several places. 

All the classic authors in wood. 
35 A set of Elzevirs by the same hand. 

Clelia; which opened of itself in the place that describes two 
lovers in a bower. 



LEONORA'S LIBRARY 21 

Baker's Chronicle. 
Advice to a Daughter. 
The New Atalantis, with a key to it. 
Mr. "Steele's Christian Hero. 

A prayer-book; with a bottle of Hungary water by the side 5 
of it. 

Dr. Sacheverell's Speech. 

Fielding's Trial. 

Seneca's Morals. 

Taylor's Holy Living and Dying. lO 

La Ferte's Instructions for Country Dances. 

I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these and 
several other authors, when Leonora entered, and, upon my 
presenting her with the letter from the knight, told me, with an 
unspeakable grace, that she hoped Sir Roger was in good health; 15 
I answered "Yes," for I hate long speeches, and after a bow or 
two retired. 

Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is still a very 
lovely woman. She has been a widow for two or three years, 
and being unfortunate in her first marriage, has taken a resolu- 20 
tion never to venture upon a second. She has no children to 
take care of, and leaves the management of her estate to my 
good friend Sir Roger. But as the mind naturally sinks into a 
kind of lethargy and falls asleep that is not agitated by some 
favorite pleasures and pursuits, Leonora has turned all the 25 
passions of her sex into a love of books and retirement. She 
converses chiefly with men (as she has often said herself), but 
it is only in their writings; and admits of very few male visitants 
except my friend Sir Roger, whom she hears with great pleasure 
and without scandal. 30 

As her reading has Iain very much among romances, it has 
given her a very particular turn of thinking, and discovers itself 
even in her house, her gardens, and her furniture. Sir Roger 
has entertained me an hour together with a description of her 
country-seat, which is situated in a kind of wilderness, about 35 
an hundred miles distant from London, and looks like a little 
enchanted palace. The rocks about her are shaped into arti- 



22 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

ficial grottoes covered with woodbines and jessamines. The 
woods are cut into shady walks, twisted into bowers, and filled 
with cages of turtles. The springs are made to run among peb- 
bles, and by that means taught to murmur very agreeably. They 
5 are likewise collected into a beautiful lake that is inhabited by a 
couple of swans, and empties itself by a little rivulet which runs 
through a green meadow, and is known in the family by the 
name of the Purling Stream. 

The knight likewise tells me that this lady preserves her game 

10 better than any of the gentlemen in the country. "Not," says 
Sir Roger, "that she sets so great a value upon her partridges 
and pheasants as upon her larks and nightingales ; for she says 
that every bird which is killed in her ground will spoil a concert, 
and that she shall certainly miss him the next year." 

15 When I think how oddly this lady is improved by learning, I 
look upon her with a mixture of admiration and pity. Amidst 
these innocent entertainments which she has formed to herself, 
how much more valuable does she appear than those of her sex 
who employ themselves in diversions that are less reasonable, 

20 though more in fashion. What improvements would a woman 
have made who is so susceptible of impressions from what she 
reads, had she been guided to such books as have a tendency to 
enlighten the understanding and rectify the passions as well as 
to those which are of little more use than to divert the im- 

25 agination? 

But the manner of a lady's employing herself usefully in 
reading shall be the subject of another paper, in which I design 
to recommend such particular books as may be proper for the 
improvement of the sex. And as this is a subject of a very nice 

30 nature, I shall desire my correspondents to give me their 
thoughts upon it. 

C. 



THE SPECTATOR'S VISIT TO COVERLEY HALL 23 

VI 

THE spectator's VISIT TO COVERLEY HALL 

[Spectator No. 106. Monday, July 2, 1711. Addison.] 

Hinc tibi copia 

Manabit ad plenum, benigno 
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu. 

— Horace. 
[" Here plenty's liberal horn shall pour 
Of fruits for thee a copious show'r, 
Rich honors of the quiet plain."] 

Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir 
Roger de Coverley, to pass away a month with him in the 
country, I last week accompanied him thither, and am settled 
with him for some time at his country-house, where I intend 
to form several of my ensuing speculations. Sir Roger, who 5 
is very well acquainted with my humor, lets me rise and go to 
bed when I please, dine at his own table or in my chamber, as I 
think fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. 
When the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only 
shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields I 10 
have observed them stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and 
have heard the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for 
that I hated to be stared at. 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family because it con- 
sists of sober and staid persons; for, as the knight is the best 15 
master in the world, he seldom changes his servants; and as he 
is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for leaving 
him; by this means his domestics are all in years, and grown 
old with their master. You would take his valet de chamhre for 
his brother, his butler is gray-headed, his groom is one of the 20 
gravest men that I have ever seen, and his coachman has the 
looks of a privy counsellor. You see the goodness of the master 
even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the 
stable with great care and tenderness, out of regard to his past 
services, though he has been useless for several years. 25 

I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy 



24 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics 
upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them 
could not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master; 
every one of them pressed forward to do something for him, and 

5 seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same 
time the good old knight, with a mixture of the father and the 
master of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs 
with several kind questions relating to themselves. This hu- 
manity and good-nature engages everybody to him, so that when 

10 he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good 
humor, and none so much as the person whom he diverts himself 
with; on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of 
old age, it is easy for a stander-by to observe a secret concern 
in the looks of all his servants. 

15 INIy worthy friend has put me under the particular care of 
his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest 
of his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, 
because they often heard their master talk of me as of his 
particular friend. 

20 My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself 
in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever 
with Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in the nature of a 
chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of 
good sense and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging 

25 conversation ; he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is 
very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives in the family 
rather as a relation than a dependant. 

I have observed in several of my papers that my friend Sir 
Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an humorist, 

30 and that his virtues as well as imperfections are, as it were, 
tinged by a certain extravagance, which makes them particularly 
his, and distinguishes them from those of other men. This cast 
of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so it renders his 
conversation highly agreeable, and more delightful than the 

35 same degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common 
and ordinary colors. As I was walking with him last night, he 
asked me how I liked the good man whom I have just now 
mentioned, and without staying for my answer, told me that he 



THE SPECTATOR'S VISIT TO COVERLEY HALL 25 

was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his 
own table, for which reason he desired a particular friend of 
his, at the University, to find him out a clergyman rather of 
plain sense than much learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, 
a sociable temper, and, if possible, a man that understood a 5 
little of backgammon. " My friend," says Sir Roger, " found me 
out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments required of 
him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show 
it; I have given him the parsonage of the parish, and, because 
I know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for life. 10 
If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem 
than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty 
years, and though he does not know I have taken notice of it, 
has never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, 
though he is every day soliciting me for something in behalf of 15 
one or other of my tenants, his parishioners. There has not 
been a lawsuit in the parish since he has lived among them; 
if any dispute arises they apply themselves to him for the de- 
cision; if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think 
never happened above once, or twice at most, they appeal to 20 
me. At his first settling with me I made him a present of all 
the good sermons which have been printed in English, and 
only begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce one 
of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has digested them into 
such a series that they follow one another naturally and make 25 
a continued system of practical divinity." 

As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman we 
were talking of came up to us; and upon the knight's asking 
him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night), told 
us the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning and Dr. South 30 
in the afternoon. He then showed us his list of preachers for 
the whole year, where I saw with a great deal of pleasure Arch- 
bishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, 
with several living authors who have published discourses of 
practical divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the 35 
pulpit but I very much approved of my friend's insisting upon 
the qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice; for I was 
so charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and delivery as 



26 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

well as with the discourses he pronounced, that I think I never 
passed any time more to my satisfaction. A sermon repeated 
after this manner is like the composition of a poet in the mouth 
of a graceful actor. 
5 I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy would 
follow this example; and, instead of wasting their spirits in 
laborious compositions of their own, would endeavor after a 
handsome elocution and all those other talents that are proper 
to enforce what has been penned by greater masters. This 
10 would not only be more easy to themselves, but more edifying 
to the people. 

L. 
VII 

THE COVERLET HOUSEHOLD 

[Spectator No. 107. Tuesday, July 3, 1711. Steele.] 

Mso-po ingentem statuam posuere Attici, 
Servumque collocarunt aeterna in basi, 
Patere honoris scirent ut cuncti viam. 

— Ph^drus. 

["The Athenians erected a large statue to .^sop, and placed him, 
though a slave, on a lasting pedestal: to show that the way to honor 
lies open indifferently to all."] 

The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed freedom and 
quiet, which I meet with here in the country, has confirmed 
me in the opinion I always had, that the general corruption of 

15 manners in servants is owing to the conduct of masters. The 
aspect of every one in the family carries so much satisfaction 
that it appears he knows the happy lot which has befallen him 
in being a member of it. There is one particular which I have 
seldom seen but at Sir Roger's; it is usual, in all other places, 

20 that servants fly from the parts of the house through which 
their master is passing; on the contrary, here, they industriously 
place themselves in his way; and it is on both sides, as it were, 
understood as a visit, when the servants appear without calling. 
This proceeds from the humane and equal temper of the man of 

25 the house, who also perfectly well knows how to enjoy a great 
estate with such economy as ever to be much beforehand. This 



THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD 27 

makes his own mind untroubled, and consequently unapt to 
vent peevish expressions, or give passionate or inconsistent orders 
to those about him. Thus respect and love go together; and a 
certain cheerfulness in performance of their duty is the particular 
distinction of the lower part of this family. When a servant is 5 
called before his master, he does not come with an expectation 
to hear himself rated for some trivial fault, threatened to be 
stripped, or used with any other unbecoming language, which 
mean masters often give to worthy servants; but it is often to 
know what road he took that he came so readily back according 10 
to order; whether he passed by such a ground; if the old man 
who rents it is in good health; or whether he gave Sir Roger's 
love to him, or the like. 

A man who preserves a respect founded on his benevolence 
to his dependants lives rather like a prince than a master in his 15 
family; his orders are received as favors rather than duties; and 
the distinction of approaching him is part of the reward for 
executing what is commanded by him. 

There is another circumstance in which my friend excels in 
his management, which is the manner of rewarding his servants; 20 
he has ever been of opinion that giving his cast clothes to be 
worn by valets has a very ill effect upon little minds, and creates 
a silly sense of equality between the parties in persons affected 
only with outward things. I have heard him often pleasant on 
this occasion and describe a young gentleman abusing his man 25 
in that coat which a month or two before was the most pleasing 
distinction he was conscious of in himself. He would turn his 
discourse still more pleasantly upon the ladies' bounties of this 
kind; and I have heard him say he knew a fine woman who 
distributed rewards and punishments in giving becoming or 30 
unbecoming dresses to her maids. 

But my good friend is above these little instances of good-will 
in bestowing only trifles on his servants; a good servant to him 
is sure of having it in his choice very soon of being no servant 
at all. As I before observed, he is so good an husband and 35 
knows so thoroughly that the skill of the purse is the cardinal 
virtue of this life, — I say, he knows so well that frugality is the 
support of generosity, that he can often spare a large fine when 



28 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

a tenement falls, and give that settlement to a good servant who 
has a mind to go into the world, or make a stranger pay the fine 
to that servant, for his more comfortable maintenance, if he 
stays in his service. 
5 A man of honor and generosity considers it would be miserable 
to himself to have no will but that of another, though it were 
of the best person breathing, and for that reason goes on as fast 
as he is able to put his servants into independent livelihoods. 
The greatest part of Sir Roger's estate is tenanted by persons 

10 who have served himself or his ancestors. It was to me ex- 
tremely pleasant to observe the visitants from several parts to 
welcome his arrival into the country; and all the difference that 
I could take notice of between the late servants who came to see 
him and those who stayed in the family, was that these latter 

15 were looked upon as finer gentlemen and better courtiers. 

This manumission and placing them in a way of livelihood I 
look upon as only what is due to a good servant, which en- 
couragement will make his successor be as diligent, as humble, 
and as ready as he was. There is something wonderful in the 

20 narrowness of those minds which can be pleased and be barren 
of bounty to those who please them. 

One might, on this occasion, recount the sense that great 
persons in all ages have had of the merit of their dependants, and 
the heroic services which men have done their masters in the 

25 extremity of their fortunes, and shown to their undone patrons 
that fortune was all the difference between them; but as I design 
this my speculation only as a gentle admonition to thankless 
masters, I shall not go out of the occurrences of common life, 
but assert it, as a general observation, that I never saw, but in 

30 Sir Roger's family and one or two more, good servants treated as 
they ought to be. Sir Roger's kindness extends to their chil- 
dren's children, and this very morning he sent his coachman's 
grandson to prentice. I shall conclude this paper with an ac- 
count of a picture in his gallery, where there are many which 

35 will deserve my future observation. 

At the very upper end of this handsome structure I saw the 
portraiture of two young men standing in a river, the one naked, 
the other in a livery. The person supported seemed half dead, 



WILL WLMBLE 29 

but still so much alive as to show in his face exquisite joy and 
love toward the other. I thought the fainting figure resembled 
my friend, Sir Roger; and, looking at the butler, who stood by 
me, for an account of it, he informed me that the person in the 
livery was a servant of Sir Roger's who stood on the shore 5 
while his master was swimming, and observing him taken with 
some sudden illness, and sink under water, jumped in and saved 
him. He told me Sir Roger took off the dress he was in as soon 
as he came home, and by a great bounty at that time, followed 
by his favor ever since, had made him master of that pretty seat 10 
which we saw at a distance as we came to this house. I remem- 
bered indeed Sir Roger said there lived a very worthy gentleman, 
to whom he was highly obliged, without mentioning anything 
further. Upon my looking a little dissatisfied at some part of the 
picture, my attendant informed me that it was against Sir Roger's 15 
will, and at the earnest request of the gentleman himself, that he 
was drawn in the habit in which he had saved his master. 

R. 

VIII 

WILL WIMBLE 

[Spectator No. 108. Wednesday, July 4, 1711. Addison.] 
Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens. 

— PH-EDRUS. 

[" Out of breath to no purpose, and very busy about nothing."] 

As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Roger before his 
house, a country fellow brought him a huge fish, which, he 
told him, Mr. William Wimble had caught that very morn- 20 
ing; and that he presented it, with his service to him, and 
intended to come and dine with him. At the same time he 
delivered him a letter, which my friend read to me as soon as 
the messenger left him: — 

"Sir Roger, — 25 

"I desire you to accept of a jack, which is the best 
I have caught this season. I intend to come and stay with 



30 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

you a week, and see how the perch bite in the Black River. I 
observed with some concern, the last time I saw you upon the 
bowling-green, that your whip wanted a lash to it; I will bring 
half a dozen with me that I twisted last week, which I hope will 
5 serve you all the time you are in the country. I have not been 
out of the saddle for six days last past, having been at Eton 
with Sir John's eldest son. He takes to his learning hugely. 
"I am, sir, your humble servant, 

"Will Wimble." 

10 This extraordinary letter and message that accompanied it 
made me very curious to know the character and quality of the 
gentleman who sent them, which I found to be as follows: Will 
Wimble is younger brother to a baronet, and descended of the 
ancient family of the Wimbles. He is now between forty and 

15 fifty, but, being bred to no business and born to no estate, he 
generally lives with his elder brother as superintendent of his 
game. He hunts a pack of dogs better than any man in the 
country, and is very famous for finding out a hare. He is 
extremely well versed in all the little handicrafts of an idle man; 

20 he makes a may-fly to a miracle, and furnishes the whole country 
with angle-rods. As he is a good-natured, officious fellow, and 
very much esteemed upon account of his family, he is a welcome 
guest at every house, and keeps up a good correspondence among 
all the gentlemen about him. He carries a tulip-root in his 

25 pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy between a 
couple of friends that live perhaps in the opposite sides of the 
county. Will is a particular favorite of all the young heirs, 
whom he frequently obliges with a net that he has weaved or a 
setting-dog that he has made himself. He now and then pre- 

30 sents a pair of garters of his own knitting to their mothers or 
sisters, and raises a great deal of mirth among them by inquiring 
as often as he meets them, how they wear. These gentleman-like 
manufactures and obliging little humors make Will the darling 
of the country. 

35 Sir Roger was proceeding in the character of him, when he 
saw him make up to us with two or three hazel-twigs in his 
hand that he had cut in Sir Roger's woods, as he came through 



WILL WIMBLE 31 

them, in his way to the house. I was very much pleased to 
observe on one side the hearty and sincere welcome with which 
Sir Roger received him, and on the other, the secret joy which 
his guest discovered at sight of the good old knight. After the 
first salutes were over, Will desired Sir Roger to lend him one 5 
of his servants to carry a set of shuttlecocks he had with him in 
a little box to a lady that lived about a mile off, to whom it seems 
he had promised such a present for above this half year. Sir 
Roger's back was no sooner turned but honest Will began to tell 
me of a large cock-pheasant that he had sprung in one of the 10 
neighboring woods, with two or three other adventures of the 
same nature. Odd and uncommon characters are the game that 
I look for and most delight in; for which reason I was as much 
pleased with the novelty of the person that talked to me as he 
could be for his life with the springing of a pheasant, and there- 15 
fore listened to him with more than ordinary attention. 

In the midst of his discourse the bell rung to dinner, where 
the gentleman I have been speaking of had the pleasure of seeing 
the huge jack he had caught served up for the first dish in a 
most sumptuous manner. Upon our sitting down to it he gave 20 
us a long account how he had hooked it, played with it, foiled it, 
and at length drew it out upon the bank, with several other 
particulars that lasted all the first course. A dish of wild-fowl 
that came afterward furnished conversation for the rest of the 
dinner, which concluded with a late invention of Will's for im- 25 
proving the quail-pipe. 

Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I was secretly 
touched with compassion toward the honest gentleman that 
had dined with us, and could not but consider, with a great deal 
of concern, how so good an heart and such busy hands were 30 
wholly employed in trifles; that so much humanity should be so 
little beneficial to others, and so much industry so little advan- 
tageous to himself. The same temper of mind and application 
to affairs might have recommended him to the public esteem 
and have raised his fortune in another station of life. What 35 
good to his country or himself might not a trader or merchant 
have done with such useful though ordinary qualifications? 

Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother of a 



32 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

great family, who had rather see their children starve like gentle- 
men than thrive in a trade or profession that is beneath their 
quality. This humor fills several parts of Europe with pride 
and beggary. It is the happiness of a trading nation, like ours, 
6 that the younger sons, though uncapable of any liberal art or 
profession, may be placed in such a way of life as may perhaps 
enable them to vie with the best of their family. Accordingly, 
we find several citizens that were launched into the world with 
narrow fortunes, rising by an honest industry to greater estates 

10 than those of their elder brothers. It is not improbable but 
Will was formerly tried at divinity, law, or physic; and that, 
finding his genius did not lie that way, his parents gave him up 
at length to his own inventions. But certainly, however im- 
proper he might have been for studies of a higher nature, he was 

15 perfectly well turned for the occupations of trade and commerce. 
As I think this is a point which cannot be too much inculcated, I 
shall desire my reader to compare what I have here written, 
with what I have said in my twenty-first speculation. 

L. 

IX 

THE COVERLET ANCESTRY 

[Spectator No. 109. Thursday, July 5, 1711. Steele.] 

Abnormis sapiens. 

— Horace. 

[" Of plain good sense, untutored in the schools."] 

I WAS this morning walking in the gallery, when Sir Roger en- 
20 tered at the end opposite to me, and, advancing toward me, 
said he was glad to meet me among his relations the de Cov- 
erleys, and hoped I liked the conversation of so much good com- 
pany, who were as silent as myself. I knew he alluded to the 
pictures; and, as he is a gentleman who does not a little value 
25 himself upon his ancient descent, I expected he would give me 
some account of them. We were now arrived at the upper end 
of the gallery, when the knight faced toward one of the pictures 
and, as we stood before it, he entered into the matter, after his 



THE COVERLEY ANCESTRY 33 

blunt way of saying things as they occur to his imagination, 
without regular introduction or care to preserve the appearance 
of chain of thought. 

"It is," said he, "worth while to consider the force of dress, 
and how the persons of one age differ from those of another 5 
merely by that only. One may observe, also, that the general 
fashion of one age has been followed by one particular set of 
people in another, and by them preserved from one generation 
to another. Thus, the vast jetting coat and small bonnet, which 
was the habit in Harry the Seventh's time, is kept on in the 10 
yeomen of the guard; not without a good and politic view, 
because they look a foot taller and a foot and a half broader; 
besides that the cap leaves the face expanded, and consequently 
more terrible and fitter to stand at the entrance of palaces. 

"This predecessor of ours, you see, is dressed after this man- 15 
ner, and his cheeks would be no larger than mine, were he in a 
hat as I am. He was the last man that won a prize in the Tilt 
Yard, which is now a common street before Whitehall. You 
see the broken lance that lies there by his right foot: he shivered 
that lance of his adversary all to pieces; and, bearing himself, 20 
look you, sir, in this manner, at the same time he came within 
the target of the gentleman who rode against him, and taking 
him with incredible force before him on the pommel of his sad- 
dle, he in that manner rid the tournament over, with an air that 
showed he did it rather to perform the rule of the lists than 25 
expose his enemy; however, it appeared he knew how to make 
use of a victory, and, with a gentle trot, he marched up to a 
gallery where their mistress sat, for they were rivals, and let him 
down with laudable courtesy and pardonable insolence. I don't 
know but it might be exactly where the coffee-house is now. 30 

"You are to know this my ancestor was not only of a military 
genius but fit also for the arts of peace, for he played on the 
bass-viol as well as any gentleman at court; you see where his 
viol hangs by his basket-hilt sword. The action of the Tilt 
Yard you may be sure won the fair lady, who was a maid of 35 
honor and the greatest beauty of her time ; here she stands, the 
next picture. You see, sir, my great-great-great-grandmother 
has on the new-fashioned petticoat, except that the modern is 



34 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

gathered at the waist; my grandmother appears as if she stood 
in a large drum, whereas the ladies now walk as if they were in a 
go-cart. For all this lady was bred at court, she became an 
excellent country wife; she brought ten children, and, when I 
5 show you the library, you shall see, in her own hand (allowing 
for the difference of the language) , the best receipt now in Eng- 
land both for an hasty-pudding and a white-pot. 

" If you please to fall back a little, because 'tis necessary to 
look at the three next pictures at one view, these are three 

10 sisters. She on the right hand, who is so very beautiful, died a 
maid ; the next to her, still handsomer, had the same fate against 
her will ; this homely thing in the middle had both their portions 
added to her own, and was stolen by a neighboring gentleman, 
a man of stratagem and resolution, for he poisoned three mastiffs 

15 to come at her, and knocked down two deer-stealers in carrying 
her off. Misfortunes happen in all families. The theft of this 
romp and so much money was no great matter to our estate. 
But the next heir that possessed it was this soft gentleman, 
whom you see there; observe the small buttons, the little boots, 

20 the laces, the slashes about his clothes, and above all, the 
posture he is drawn in (which to be sure was his own choosing) ; 
you see he sits with one hand on a desk, writing and looking 
as it were another way, like an easy writer or a sonneteer. He 
was one of those that had too much wit to know how to live 

25 in the world; he was a man of no justice but great good man- 
ners; he ruined everybody that had anything to do with him, 
but never said a rude thing in his life; the most indolent person 
in the world, he would sign a deed that passed away half his 
estate, with his gloves on, but would not put on his hat before a 

30 lady if it were to save his country. He is said to be the first that 
made love by squeezing the hand. He left the estate with ten 
thousand pounds' debt upon it; but, however, by all hands I 
have been informed that he was every way the finest gentleman 
in the world. That debt lay heavy on our house for one gen- 

35 eration; but it was retrieved by a gift from that honest man 
you see there, a citizen of our name but nothing at all akin to 
us. I know Sir Andrew Freeport has said behind my back that 
this man was descended from one of the ten children of the maid 



THE COVERLEY ANCESTRY 35 

of honor I showed you above; but it was never made out. We 
winked at the thing, indeed, because money was wanting at that 
time." 

Here I saw my friend a Httle embarrassed, and turned my face 
to the next portraiture. 5 

Sir Roger went on with his account of the gallery in the fol- 
lowing manner: "This man" (pointing to him I looked at) "I 
take to be the honor of our house, Sir Humphrey de Coverley; 
he was, in his dealings, as punctual as a tradesman and as gen- 
erous as a gentleman. He would have thought himself as much lo 
undone by breaking his word as if it were to be followed by 
bankruptcy. He served his country as knight of this shire to 
his dying day. He found it no easy matter to maintain an 
integrity in his words and actions, even in things that regarded 
the offices which were incumbent upon him, in the care of his 15 
own affairs and relations of life, and therefore dreaded, though 
he had great talents, to go into employments of state, where he 
must be exposed to the snares of ambition. Innocence of life 
and great ability were the distinguishing parts of his character; 
the latter, he had often observed, had led to the destruction of 20 
the former, and used frequently to lament that great and good 
had not the same signification. He was an excellent husband- 
man, but had resolved not to exceed such a degree of wealth; 
all above it he bestowed in secret bounties many years after the 
sum he aimed at for his own use was attained. Yet he did not 25 
slacken his industry, but to a decent old age spent the life and 
fortune which was superfluous to himself in the service of his 
friends and neighbors." 

Here we were called to dinner, and Sir Roger ended the dis- 
course of this gentleman by telling me, as we followed the ser- 30 
vant, that this his ancestor was a brave man, and narrowly 
escaped being killed in the Civil Wars; "for," said he, "he was 
sent out of the field upon a private message the day before the 
battle of Worcester." 

The whim of narrowly escaping by having been within a day 35 
of danger, with other matters above mentioned, mixed with 
good sense, left me at a loss whether I was more delighted with 
my friend's wisdom or simplicity. R. 



36 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



THE COVERLET GHOST 

[Spectator No. 110. Friday, July 6, 1711. Addison.] 

Horror ubique aniraos, simul ipsa silentia terrent. 

— Vergil. 
[" All things are full of horror and affright, 
And dreadful ev'n the silence of the night." — Dryden.] 

At a little distance from Sir Roger's house, among the ruins 
of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged elms, which are 
shot up so very high that, when one passes under them, the 
rooks and crows that rest upon the tops of them seem to be caw- 
5 ing in another region. I am very much delighted with this 
sort of noise, which I consider as a kind of natural prayer to 
that Being who supplies the wants of His whole creation, and 
who, in the beautiful language of the Psalms, feedeth the young 
ravens that call upon Him. I like this retirement the better, 

10 because of an ill report it lies under of being haunted; for 
which reason, as I have been told in the family, no living creat- 
ure ever walks in it besides the chaplain. My good friend the 
butler desired me, with a very grave face, not to venture my- 
self in it after sunset, for that one of the footmen had been almost 

15 frighted out of his wits by a spirit that appeared to him in the 
shape of a black horse without an head ; to which he added, that 
about a month ago one of the maids coming home late that way, 
with a pail of milk upon her head, heard such a rustling among 
the bushes that she let it fall. 

20 I was taking a walk in this place last night, between the hours 
of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one of the most 
proper scenes in the world for a ghost to appear in. The ruins 
of the abbey are scattered up and down on every side, and half 
covered with ivy and elder-bushes, the harbors of several solitary 

25 birds, which seldom make their appearance till the dusk of the 
evening. The place was formerly a churchyard, and has still 
several marks in it of graves and burying-places. There is such 



THE COVERLEY GHOST 37 

an echo among the old ruins and vauUs that, if you stamp but 
a little louder than ordinary, you hear the sound repeated. At 
the same time the walk of elms, with the croaking of the ravens, 
which from time to time are heard from the tops of them, looks 
exceeding solemn and venerable. These objects naturally raise 5 
seriousness and attention; and when night heightens the awful- 
ness of the place and pours out her supernumerary horrors 
upon everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak minds 
fill it with spectres and apparitions. 

Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the Association of Ideas, has 10 
very curious remarks to show how, by the prejudice of educa- 
tion, one idea often introduces into the mind a whole set that 
bear no resemblance to one another in the nature of things. 
Among several examples of this kind, he produces the following 
instance: " The ideas of goblins and sprites have really no more 15 
to do with darkness than light; yet, let but a foolish maid in- 
culcate these often on the mind of a child and raise them 
there together, possibly he shall never be able to separate them 
again so long as he lives, but darkness shall ever afterward bring 
with it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined that he 20 
can no more bear the one than the other." 

As I was walking in the solitude, where the dusk of the even- 
ing conspired with so many other occasions of terror, I observed 
a cow grazing not far from me, which an imagination that is 
apt to startle might easily have construed into a black horse 25 
without an head; and I dare say the poor footman lost his wits 
upon some such trivial occasion. 

My friend Sir Roger has often told me, with a great deal of 
mirth, that at his first coming to his estate, he found three parts 
of his house altogether useless; that the best room in it had the 30 
reputation of being haunted, and by that means was locked up; 
that noises had been heard in his long gallery, so that he could 
not get a servant to enter it after eight o'clock at night; that the 
door of one of his chambers was nailed up, because there went a 
story in the family that a butler had formerly hanged himself in it; 35 
and that his mother, who lived to a great age, had shut up half 
the rooms in the house, in which either her husband, a son, or 
daughter had died. The knight, seeing his habitation reduced 



38 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

to so small a compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his 
own house, upon the death of his mother ordered all the apart- 
ments to be flung open and exorcised by his chaplain, who lay in 
every room one after another, and by that means dissipated the 
5 fears which had so long reigned in the family. 

I should not have been thus particular upon these ridiculous 
horrors, did not I find them so very much prevail in all parts of 
the country. At the same time, I think a person who is thus 
terrified with the imagination of ghosts and spectres much more 

10 reasonable than one who, contrary to the reports of all his- 
torians, sacred and profane, ancient and modern, and to the 
traditions of all nations, thinks the appearance of spirits fabulous 
and groundless. Could not I give myself up to this general 
testimony of mankind, I should to the relations of particular per- 

15 sons who are now living and whom I cannot distrust in other 
matters of fact. I might here add, that not only the historians, 
to whom we may join the poets, but likewise the philosophers of 
antiquity have favored this opinion. Lucretius himself, though 
by the course of his philosophy he was obliged to maintain that 

20 the soul did not exist separate from the body, makes no doubt 
of the reality of apparitions, and that men have often appeared 
after their death. This I think very remarkable; he was so 
pressed with the matter of tact which he could not have the con- 
fidence to deny, that he was forced to account for it by one of 

25 the most absurd unphilosophical notions that was ever started. 
He tells us that the surfaces of all bodies are perpetually flying 
off from their respective bodies one after another, and that these 
surfaces or thin cases that included each other, whilst they were 
joined in the body, like the coats of an onion, are sometimes 

30 seen entire when they are separated from it; by which means 
we often behold the shapes and shadows of persons who are 
either dead or absent. 

I shall dismiss this paper with a story out of Josephus, not so 
much for the sake of the story itself as for the moral reflections 

35 with which the author concludes it, and which I shall here set 
down in his own words: — 

"Glaphyra, the daughter of King Archelaus, after the death 
of her two first husbands (being married to a third, who was 



A COUNTRY SUNDAY 39 

brother to her first husband, and so passionately in love with 
her that he turned off his former wife to make room for this 
marriage) had a very odd kind of dream. She fancied that she 
saw her first husband coming toward her, and that she em- 
braced him with great tenderness; when in the midst of the 5 
pleasure which she expressed at the sight of him, he reproached 
her after the following manner: — 

"'Glaphyra,' says he, 'thou hast made good the old saying 
that women are not to be trusted. Was not I the husband of 
thy virginity? Have I not children by thee? How couldst 10 
thou forget our loves so far as to enter into a second marriage, 
and after that into a third? . . . However, for the sake of our 
past loves I shall free thee from thy present reproach, and make 
thee mine forever.' 

" Glaphyra told this dream to several women of her acquaint- 15 
ance, and died soon after. 

"I thought this story might not be impertinent in this place 
wherein I speak of those kings. Besides that, the example de- 
serves to be taken notice of, as it contains a most certain proof 
of the immortality of the soul, and of divine providence. If any 20 
man thinks these facts incredible, let him enjoy his own opinion 
to himself, but let him not endeavor to disturb the belief of 
others, who by instances of this nature are excited to the study 
of virtue." L. 

XI 

A COUNTRY SUNDAY 

[Spectator No. 112, Monday, Juhj 9, 1711. Addison.] 

^ Adavdrovs ixkv irpuTa deoijs, v6fx(^ wj Stdfcetrai, 
Ti/xa. — 

— Pythagobas. 

["First in obedience to thy country's rites 
Worship the immortal gods."] 

I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, 25 
if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, 
it would be the best method that could have been thought of 



40 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the 
country people would soon degenerate into a kind of savages 
and barbarians were there not such frequent returns of a stated 
time, in which the whole village meet together with their best 
5 faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one an- 
other upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to 
them, and join together in adoration of the Supreme Being. 
Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it 
refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, but as it puts 

10 both the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, 
and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure 
in the eye of the village. A country fellow distinguishes himself 
as much in the churchyard as a citizen does upon the 'Change, 
the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that place 

15 either after sermon or before the bell rings. 

My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beautified 
the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing; 
he has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the 
communion-table at his ovra expense. He has often told me 

20 that, at his coming to his estate, he found his parishioners very 
irregular; and that, in order to make them kneel and join in 
the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and a com- 
mon-prayer-book, and at the same time employed an itinerant 
singing-master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to 

25 instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms; upon which 
they now very much value themselves, and indeed outdo most 
of the country churches that I have ever heard. 

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps 
them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it 

30 besides himself; for, if by chance he has been surprised into a 
short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up 
and looks about him, and, if he sees anybody else nodding, 
either wakes them himself, or sends his servant to them. Sev- 
eral other of the old knight's particularities break out upon these 

35 occasions; sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the 
Singing-Psalms half a minute after the rest of the congregation 
have done with it; sometimes, when he is pleased with the 
matter of his devotion, he pronounces "Amen" three or four 



A COUNTRY SUNDAY 41 

times to the same prayer; and sometimes stands up when every- 
body else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see 
if any of his tenants are missing. 

I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, 
in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to 5 
mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. 
This John Matthews, it seems, is remarkable for being an idle 
fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. 
This authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner 
which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very lO 
good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see 
anything ridiculous in his behavior; besides that the general 
good sense and worthiness of his character makes his friends 
observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than 
blemish his good qualities. 15 

As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir 
till Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down 
from his seat in the chancel between a double row of his tenants, 
that stand bowing to him on each side, and every now and then 
inquires how such an one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do, 20 
whom he does not see at church, — which is understood as a secret 
reprimand to the person that is absent. 

The chaplain has often told me that, upon a catechising day, 
when Sir Roger had been pleased with a boy that answers well, 
he has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his en- 25 
couragement, and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of 
bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has likewise added five pounds 
a year to the clerk's place; and, that he may encourage the young 
fellows to make themselves perfect in the church service, has 
promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very 30 
old, to bestow it according to merit. 

The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his chaplain, 
and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more re- 
markable because the very next village is famous for the differ- 
ences and contentions that rise between the parson and the 35 
squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The parson is 
always preaching at the squire, and the squire, to be revenged 
on the parson, never comes to church. The squire has made 



42 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

all his tenants atheists and tithe-stealers ; while the parson in- 
structs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and insin- 
uates to them in almost every sermon that he is a better man 
than his patron. In short, matters are come to such an ex- 
5 tremity that the squire has not said his prayers either in public 
or private this half year; and that the parson threatens him, 
if he does not mend his manners, to pray for him in the face of 
the whole congregation. 

Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, 

10 are very fatal to the ordinary people, who are so used to be 
dazzled with riches that they pay as much deference to the 
understanding of a man of an estate as of a man of learning; 
and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how impor- 
tant soever it may be, that is preached to them, when they 

15 know there are several men of five hundred a year who do not 
believe it. L. 



XII 

SIR ROGER IN LOVE 

[Spectator No. 113. Tuesday, July 10, 1711. Steele.] 

Haerent infixi pectore vultus. 

— Vergil. 

["Her looks were deep imprinted in his heart."] 

In my first description of the company in which I pass most 
of my time, it may be remembered that I mentioned a great 
affliction which my friend Sir Roger had met with in his youth: 

20 which was no less than a disappointment in love. It happened 
this evening that we fell into a very pleasing walk at a distance 
from his house. As soon as we came into it, "It is," quoth the 
good old man, looking round him with a smile, "very hard that 
any part of my land should be settled upon one who has used me 

25 so ill as the perverse widow did; and yet I am sure I could not 
see a sprig of any bough of this whole walk of trees but I should 
reflect upon her and her severity. She hag certainly the finest 



SIR ROGER IN LOVE 43 

hand of any woman in the world. You are to know this was the 
place wherein I used to muse upon her; and by that custom 
I can never come into it but the same tender sentiments revive 
in my mind, as if I had actually walked with that beautiful 
creature under these shades. I have been fool enough to carve 5 
her name on the bark of several of these trees; so unhappy is the 
condition of men in love to attempt the removing of their pas- 
sion by the methods which serve only to imprint it deeper. She 
has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world." 

Here followed a profound silence; and I was not displeased lo 
to observe my friend falling so naturally into a discourse which 
I had ever before taken notice he industriously avoided. After 
a very long pause he entered upon an account of this great 
circumstance in his life, with an air which I thought raised my 
idea of him above what I had ever had before; and gave me the 15 
picture of that cheerful mind of his before it received that stroke 
which has ever since affected his words and actions. But he 
went on as follows: — 

"I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and resolved 
to follow the steps of the most worthy of my ancestors who have 20 
inhabited this spot of earth before me, in all the methods of 
hospitality and good neighborhood, for the sake of my fame, 
and in country sports and recreations, for the sake of my 
health. In my twenty-third year I was obliged to serve as 
sheriff of the county; and in my servants, officers, and whole 25 
equipage, indulged the pleasure of a young man, who did not 
think ill of his own person, in taking that public occasion of 
showing my figure and behavior to advantage. You may easily 
imagine to yourself what appearance I made, who am pretty tall, 
rid well, and was very well dressed, at the head of a whole 30 
county, with music before me, a feather in my hat, and my horse 
well bitted. I can assure you I was not a little pleased with the 
kind looks and glances I had from all the balconies and windows, 
as I rode to the hall where the assizes were held. But when I 
came there, a beautiful creature in a widow's habit sat in court 35 
to hear the event of a cause concerning her dower. This com- 
manding creature, who was born for destruction of all who 
behold her, put on such a resignation in her countenance, and 



44 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

bore the whispers of all around the court with such pretty uneasi- 
ness, I warrant you, and then recovered herself from one eye 
to another, till she was perfectly confused by meeting some- 
thing so wistful in all she encountered, that at last, with a 
5 murrain to her, she cast her bewitching eye upon me. I no 
sooner met it but I bowed like a great surprised booby; and, 
knowing her cause to be the first which came on, I cried, like a 
captivated calf as I was, 'Make way for the defendant's wit- 
nesses.' This sudden partiality made all the county immedi- 

10 ately see the sheriff also was become a slave to the fine widow. 
During the time her cause was upon trial, she behaved herself, 
I warrant you, with such a deep attention to her business, took 
opportunities to have little billets handed to her counsel, then 
would be in such a pretty confusion, occasioned, you must know, 

15 by acting before so much company, that not only I but the 
whole court was prejudiced in her favor; and all that the next 
heir to her husband had to urge was thought so groundless and 
frivolous that, when it came to her counsel to reply, there was 
not half so much said as every one besides in the court thought 

20 he could have urged to her advantage. You must understand, 
sir, this perverse woman is one of those unaccountable creatures 
that secretly rejoice in the admiration of men, but indulge them- 
selves in no further consequences. Hence it is that she has ever 
had a train of admirers, and she removes from her slaves in town 

25 to those in the country according to the seasons of the year. She 
is a reading lady, and far gone in the pleasures of friendship; 
she is always accompanied by a confidante, who is witness to her 
daily protestations against our sex, and consequently a bar to 
her first steps toward love, upon the strength of her own maxims 

30 and declarations. 

"However, I must needs say this accomplished mistress of 
mine has distinguished me above the rest, and has been known 
to declare Sir Roger de Coverley was the tamest and most human 
of all the brutes in the country. I was told she said so by one 

35 who thought he rallied me; but, upon the strength of this slender 
encouragement of being thought least detestable, I made new 
liveries, new-paired my coach-horses, sent them all to town to 
be bitted and taught to throw their legs well and move all to- 



SIR ROGER IN LOVE 45 

gether, before I pretended to cross the country and wait upon 
her. As soon as I thought my retinue suitable to the character 
of my fortune and youth, I set out from hence to make my ad- 
dresses. The particular skill of this lady has ever been to 
inflame your wishes and yet command respect. To make her 5 
mistress of this art, she has a greater share of knowledge, wit, 
and good sense than is usual even among men of merit. Then 
she is beautiful beyond the race of women. If you won't let 
her go on with a certain artifice with her eyes and the skill of 
beauty, she will arm herself with her real charms, and strike 10 
you with admiration. It is certain that, if you were to behold 
the whole woman, there is that dignity in her aspect, that com- 
posure in her motion, that complacency in her manner, that if 
her form makes you hope, her merit makes you fear. But then 
again, she is such a desperate scholar that no country gentleman 15 
can approach her without being a jest. As I was going to tell 
you, when I came to her house I was admitted to her presence 
with great civility; at the same time she placed herself to be 
first seen by me in such an attitude, as I think you call the 
posture of a picture, that she discovered new charms, and I at 20 
last came toward her with such an awe as made me speechless. 
This she no sooner observed but she made her advantage of it, 
and began a discourse to me concerning love and honor, as they 
both are followed by pretenders and the real votaries to them. 
When she had discussed these points in a discourse which I 25 
verily believe was as learned as the best philosopher in Europe 
could possibly make, she asked me whether she was so happy as 
to fall in with my sentiments on these important particulars. 
Her confidante sat by her, and, upon my being in the last con- 
fusion and silence, this malicious aid of hers, turning to her, 30 
says, 'I am very glad to observe Sir Roger pauses upon this 
subject, and seems resolved to deliver all his sentiments upon 
the matter when he pleases to speak.' They both kept their 
countenances, and after I had sat half an hour meditating how 
to behave before such profound casuists, I rose up and took my 35 
leave. Chance has since that time thrown me very often in her 
way, and she as often has directed a discourse to me which I do 
not understand. This barbarity has kept me ever at a distance 



46 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

from the most beautiful object my eyes ever beheld. It is thus 
also she deals with all mankind, and you must make love to 
her, as you would conquer the Sphinx, by posing her. But were 
she like other women, and that there were any talking to her, 
5 how constant must the pleasure of that man be who could con- 
verse with a creature — But, after all, you may be sure her 
heart is fixed on some one or other; and yet I have been credibly 
informed — but who can believe half that is said ? After she had 
done speaking to me, she put her hand to her bosom and adjusted 

10 her tucker. Then she cast her eyes a little down, upon my be- 
holding her too earnestly. They say she sings excellently; her 
voice in her ordinary speech has something in it inexpressibly 
sweet. You must know I dined with her at a public table the 
day after I first saw her, and she helped me to some tansy in 

15 the eye of all the gentlemen in the country: she has certainly the 
finest hand of any woman in the world. I can assure you, sir, 
were you to behold her, you would be in the same condition ; for 
as her speech is music, her form is angelic. But I find I grow 
irregular while I am talking of her; but indeed it would be 

20 stupidity to be unconcerned at such perfection. Oh, the ex- 
cellent creature! she is as inimitable to all women as she is 
inaccessible to all men." 

I found my friend begin to rave, and insensibly led him 
toward the house, that we might be joined by some other com- 

25 pany; and am convinced that the widow is the secret cause of 
all that inconsistency which appears in some parts of my friend's 
discourse; though he has so much command of himself as not 
directly to mention her, yet according to that passage of Mar- 
tial, which one knows not how to render in English, "Dum tacet 

30 hanc loquitur." I shall end this paper with that whole epigram, 
which represents with much humor my honest friend's condition: 



"Quicquid agit Rufus, nihil est nisi Naevia Rufo; 
Si gaudet, si flet, si tacet, hanc loquitur: 
Cenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit — una est 
35 Naevia; si non sit Naevia, mutus erit. 

Scriberet hesterna patri cum luce salutem, 
'Naevia lux,' inquit, 'Naevia lumen, ave.'" 



THE SHAME AND DREAD OF POVERTY 47 

"Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk, 
Still he can nothing but of Naevia talk; 
Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute, 
Still he must speak of Naevia, or be mute; 
He writ to his father, ending with this line, — 6 

*I am, my lovely Naevia, ever thine.'" 

R. 

xni 

THE SHAME AND DREAD OF POVERTY 

[Spectator No. 114. Wednesday, July 11, 1711. Steele.] 

— Paupertatis pudor et fuga . 

— Horace. 
( — "The dread of nothing more 
Than to be thought necessitous and poor." — Pooly.] 

Economy in our affairs has the same effect upon our fortunes 
which good breeding has upon our conversations. There is a 
pretending behavior in both cases, which, instead of making 
men esteemed, renders them both miserable and contemptible. 10 
We had yesterday at Sir Roger's a set of country gentlemen 
who dined with him; and after dinner the glass was taken, 
by those who pleased, pretty plentifully. Among others, I ob- 
served a person of a tolerable good aspect, who seemed to be 
more greedy of liquor than any of the company, and yet, me- 15 
thought, he did not taste it with delight. As he grew warm, he 
was suspicious of everything that was said; and as he advanced 
toward being fuddled, his humor grew worse. At the same 
time his bitterness seemed to be rather an inward dissatisfac- 
tion in his own mind than any dislike he had taken at the com- 20 
pany. Upon hearing his name, I knew him to be a gentleman 
of a considerable fortune in this county, but greatly in debt. 
What gives the unhappy man this peevishness of spirit is, that 
his estate is dipped, and is eating out with usury; and yet he has 
not the heart to sell any part of it. His proud stomach, at the 25 
cost of restless nights, constant inquietudes, danger of affronts, 
and a thousand nameless inconveniences, preserves this canker 
in his fortune, rather than it shall be said he is a man of fewer 



48 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

hundreds a year than he has been commonly reputed. Thus he 
endures the torment of poverty, to avoid the name of being less 
rich. If you go to his house you see great plenty, but served 
in a manner that shows it is all unnatural, and that the master's 
5 mind is not at home. There is a certain waste and carelessness 
in the air of everything, and the whole appears but a covered 
indigence, a magnificent poverty. That neatness and cheerful- 
ness which attends the table of him who lives within compass, 
is wanting, and exchanged for a libertine way of service in all 

10 about him. 

This gentleman's conduct, though a very common way of 
management, is as ridiculous as that officer's would be who had 
but few men under his command, and should take the charge 
of an extent of country rather than of a small pass. To pay for, 

15 personate, and keep in a man's hands a greater estate than he 
really has, is of all others the most unpardonable vanity, and 
must in the end reduce the man who is guilty of it to dishonor. 
Yet, if we look round us in any county of Great Britain, we 
shall see many in this fatal error — if that may be called by so 

20 soft a name which proceeds from a false shame of appearing 

what they really are — when the contrary behavior would in a 

short time advance them to the condition which they pretend to. 

Laertes has fifteen hundred pounds a year, which is mortgaged 

for six thousand pounds; but it is impossible to convince him 

25 that if he sold as much as would pay off that debt he would 
save four shillings in the pound, which he gives for the vanity 
of being the reputed master of it. Yet, if Laertes did this, he 
would perhaps be easier in his own fortune; but then, Irus, a 
fellow of yesterday, who has but twelve hundred a year, would 

30 be his equal. Rather than this shall be, Laertes goes on to 
bring well-born beggars into the world, and every twelvemonth 
charges his estate with at least one year's rent more by the birth 
of a child. 

Laertes and Irus are neighbors, whose way of living are an 

35 abomination to each other. Irus is moved by the fear of poverty, 
and Leartes by the shame of it. Though the motive of action 
is of so near affinity in both, and may be resolved into this, 
"That to each of them poverty is the greatest of all evils," yet are 



THE SHAME AND DREAD OF POVERTY 49 

their manners very widely different. Shame of poverty makes 
Laertes launch into unnecessary equipage, vain expense, and 
lavish entertainments; fear of poverty makes Irus allow himself 
only plain necessaries, appear without a servant, sell his own 
corn, attend his laborers, and be himself a laborer. Shame of 5 
poverty makes Laertes go every day a step nearer to it, and 
fear of poverty stirs up Irus to make every day some further 
progress from it. 

These different motives produce the excesses which men are 
guilty of in the negligence of and provision for themselves. 10 
Usury, stock-jobbing, extortion, and oppression have their seed 
in the dread of want; and vanity, riot, and prodigality, from 
the shame of it; but both these excesses are infinitely below the 
pursuit of a reasonable creature. After we have taken care to 
command so much as is necessary for maintaining ourselves in 15 
the order of men suitable to our character, the care of superflu- 
ities is a vice no less extravagant than the neglect of necessaries 
would have been before. 

Certain it is that they are both out of nature when she is 
followed with reason and good sense. It is from this reflection 20 
that I always read Mr. Cowley with the greatest pleasure. His 
magnanimity is as much above that of other considerable men 
as his understanding; and it is a true distinguishing spirit in the 
elegant author who published his works, to dwell so much upon 
the temper of his mind and the moderation of his desires. By 25 
this means he has rendered his friend as amiable as famous. 
That state of life which bears the face of poverty with Mr. 
Cowley's "great vulgar," is admirably described; and it is no 
small satisfaction to those of the same turn of desire, that he 
produces the authority of the wisest men of the best age of the 30 
world to strengthen his opinion of the ordinary pursuits of 
mankind. 

It would, methinks, be no ill maxim of life, if, according to 
that ancestor of Sir Roger whom I lately mentioned, every man 
would point to himself what sum he would resolve not to exceed. 35 
He might by this means cheat himself into a tranquillity on this 
side of that expectation, or convert what he should get above 
it to nobler uses than his own pleasures or necessities. 



50 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

This temper of mind would exempt a man from an ignorant 
envy of restless men above him, and a more inexcusable con- 
tempt of happy men below him. This would be sailing by 
some compass, living with some design; but to be eternally be- 
5 wildered in prospects of future gain, and putting on unnecessary 
armor against improbable blows of fortune, is a mechanic being 
which has not good sense for its direction, but is carried on by a 
sort of acquired instinct toward things below our consideration 
and unworthy our esteem. 
10 It is possible that the tranquillity I now enjoy at Sir Roger's 
may have created in me this way of thinking, which is so ab- 
stracted from the common relish of the world; but, as I am 
now in a pleasing arbor, surrounded with a beautiful landscape, 
I find no inclination so strong as to continue in these mansions, 
15 so remote from the ostentatious scenes of life; and am, at this 
present writing, philosopher enough to conclude, with Mr. 
Cowley: 

" If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat. 
With any wish so mean as to be great, 
20 Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove 

The humble blessings of that life I love! " 

T. 

XIV 

BODILY EXERCISE 

[Spectator No. 115. Thursday, July 12, 1711. Addison.] 
Ut sit mens sana in corpore sano. 

— JuVENAIi. 

[" Pray for a sound mind in a sound body. "J 

Bodily labor is of two kinds: either that which a man submits 
to for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes for his pleasure. 
The latter of them generally changes the name of labor for 
25 that of exercise, but differs only from ordinary labor as it rises 
from another motive. 

A country life abounds in both these kinds of labor, and for 
that reason gives a man a greater stock of health, and conse- 



BODILY EXERCISE 51 

quently a more perfect enjoyment of himself, than any other way 
of life. I consider the body as a system of tubes and glands, or, 
to use a more rustic phrase, a bundle of pipes and strainers, fitted 
to one another after so wonderful a manner as to make a proper 
engine for the soul to work with. This description does not 5 
only comprehend the bones, tendons, veins, nerves, and arteries, 
but every muscle and every ligature, which is a composition of 
fibres that are so many imperceptible tubes or pipes, interwoven 
on all sides with invisible glands or strainers. 

This general idea of a human body, without considering it in lo 
its niceties of anatomy, lets us see how absolutely necessary 
labor is for the right preservation of it. There must be frequent 
motions and agitations, to mix, digest, and separate the juices 
contained in it, as well as to clear and cleanse that infinitude of 
pipes and strainers of which it is composed, and to give their 15 
solid parts a more firm and lasting tone. Labor or exercise fer- 
ments the humors, casts them into their proper channels, throws 
off redundancies, and helps nature in those secret distributions 
without which the body cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the soul 
act with cheerfulness. 20 

I might here mention the effects which this has upon all the 
faculties of the mind, by keeping the understanding clear, the 
imagination untroubled, and refining those spirits that are nec- 
essary for the proper exertion of our intellectual faculties, dur- 
ing the present laws of union between soul and body. It is 25 
to a neglect in this particular that we must ascribe the spleen 
which is so frequent in men of studious and sedentary tempers, 
as well as the vapors to which those of the other sex are so often 
subject. 

Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our well-being, 30 
nature would not have made the body so proper for it, by giving 
such an activity to the limbs and such a pliancy to every part 
as necessarily produce those compressions, extensions, contor- 
tions, dilatations, and all other kinds of motions that are neces- 
sary for the preservation of such a system of tubes and glands 35 
as has been before mentioned. And that we might not want 
inducements to engage us in such an exercise of the body as is 
proper for its welfare, it is so ordered that nothing valuable can 



52 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

be procured without it. Not to mention riches and honor, even 
food and raiment are not to be come at without the toil of the 
hands and sweat of the brows. Providence furnishes mate- 
rials, but expects that we should work them up ourselves. The 
5 earth must be labored before it gives its increase; and when it 
is forced into its several products, how many hands must they 
pass through before they are fit for use! Manufactures, trade, 
and agriculture naturally employ more than nineteen parts of the 
species in twenty; and as for those who are not obliged to 

10 labor, by the condition in which they are born, they are more 
miserable than the rest of mankind unless they indulge them- 
selves in that voluntary labor which goes by the name of exercise. 
My friend Sir Roger has been an indefatigable man in busi- 
ness of this kind, and has hung several parts of his house with the 

15 trophies of his former labors. The walls of his great hall are 
covered with the horns of several kinds of deer that he has 
killed in the chase, which he thinks the most valuable furniture 
of his house, as they afford him frequent topics of discourse, 
and show that he has not been idle. At the lower end of the 

20 hall is a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which his mother or- 
dered to be hung up in that manner, and the knight looks upon 
with great satisfaction, because it seems he was but nine years 
old when his dog killed him. A little room adjoining to the 
hall is a kind of arsenal filled with guns of several sizes and 

25 inventions, with which the knight has made great havoc in the 
woods, and destroyed many thousands of pheasants, partridges, 
and woodcocks. His stable doors are patched with noses that 
belonged to foxes of the knight's o^ii hunting down. Sir Roger 
showed me one of them that for distinction sake has a brass nail 

30 struck through it, which cost him fifteen hours' riding, carried 
him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace of geldings, 
and lost above half his dogs. This the knight looks upon as one 
of the greatest exploits of his life. The perverse widow, whom 
I have given some account of, was the death of several foxes; for 

35 Sir Roger has told me that in the course of his amours he patched 
the western door of his stable. Whenever the widow was cruel, 
the foxes were sure to pay for it. In proportion as his passion 
for the widow abated, and old age came on, he left off fox-hunt- 



BODILY EXERCISE 53 

ing; but a hare is not yet safe that sits within ten miles of his 
house. 

There is no kind of exercise which I would so recommend 
to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as there is none 
which so much conduces to health, and is every way accommo- 5 
dated to the body, according to the idea which I have given of it. 
Dr. Sydenham is very lavish in its praises; and if the English 
reader will see the mechanical effects of it described at length, 
he may find them in a book published not many years since, 
under the title of the Medicina Gymnastica. 10 

For my own part, when I am in town, for want of these oppor- 
tunities, I exercise myself an hour every morning upon a dumb 
bell that is placed in a corner of my room, and pleases me the 
more because it does everything I require of it in the most pro- 
found silence. My landlady and her daughters are so well ac- 15 
quainted with my hours of exercise that they never come into 
my room to disturb me whilst I am ringing. 

When I was some years younger than I am at present, I 
used to employ myself in a more laborious diversion, which I 
learned from a Latin treatise of exercises that is written with 20 
great erudition. It is there called the a-Kio/xax^o., or the fight- 
ing with a man's own shadow, and consists in the brandish- 
ing of two short sticks grasped in each hand, and loaden with 
plugs of lead at either end. This opens the chest, exercises the 
limbs, and gives a man all the pleasure of boxing, without the 25 
blows. I could wish that several learned men would lay out 
that time which they employ in controversies and disputes about 
nothing, in this method of fighting with their own shadows. It 
might conduce very much to evaporate the spleen, which makes 
them uneasy to the public as well as to themselves. 30 

To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and body, I con- 
sider myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties, and I think 
I have not fulfilled the business of the day when I do not thus 
employ the one in labor and exercise, as well as the other in 
study and contemplation. L. 35 



54 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

XV 

HUNTING WITH SIR ROGER 

[Spectator No. 116. Friday, July 13, 1711. BudgelL] 

Vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron, 

Taygetique canes -. 

— Vergil. 

f'The echoing hills and chiding hounds invite."] 

Those who have searched into human nature, observe that 
nothing so much shows the nobleness of the soul as that its felicity 
consists in action. Every man has such an active principle in 
him that he will find out something to employ himself upon, in 
5 whatever place or state of life he is posted. I have heard of a 
gentleman who was under close confinement in the Bastile seven 
years; during which time he amused himself in scattering a few 
small pins about his chamber, gathering them up again, and 
placing them in different figures on the arm of a great chair. 

10 He often told his friends afterward, that unless he had found 
out this piece of exercise, he verily believed he should have lost 
his senses. 

After what has been said, I need not inform my readers that 
Sir Roger, with whose character I hope they are at present pretty 

15 well acquainted, has in his youth gone through the whole course 
of those rural diversions which the country abounds in, and 
which seem to be extremely well suited to that laborious indus- 
try a man may observe here in a far greater degree than in towns 
and cities. I have before hinted at some of my friend's exploits: 

20 he has in his youthful days taken forty coveys of partridges in a 
season, and tired many a salmon with a line consisting but of a 
single hair. The constant thanks and good wishes of the neigh- 
borhood always attended him on account of his remarkable 
enmity toward foxes, having destroyed more of those vermin in 

25 one year than it was thought the whole country could have pro- 
duced. Indeed, the knight does not scruple to own, among his 
most intimate friends, that in order to establish his reputation 
this way, he has secretly sent for great numbers of them out 



HUNTING WITH SIR ROGER 55 

of other counties, which he used to turn loose about the country 
by night, that he might the better signaHze himself in their 
destruction the next day. His hunting horses were the finest and 
best managed in all these parts: his tenants are still full of the 
praises of a gray stone-horse that unhappily staked himself 5 
several years since, and was buried with great solemnity in the 
orchard. 

Sir Roger, being at present too old for fox-hunting, to keep 
himself in action has disposed of his beagles and got a pack of 
stop-hounds. What these want in speed he endeavors to make 10 
amends for by the deepness of their mouths and the variety of 
their notes, which are suited in such manner to each other 
that the whole cry makes up a complete concert. He is so nice 
in this particular that a gentleman having made him a present 
of a very fine hound the other day, the knight returned it by the 15 
servant with a great many expressions of civility, but desired him 
to tell his master that the dog he had sent was indeed a most 
excellent bass, but that at present he only wanted a counter- 
tenor. Could I believe my friend had ever read Shakespeare, I 
should certainly conclude he had taken the hint from Theseus, 20 
in the Midsummer Night's Dream: 

"My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So flewed, so sanded, and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew: 
Crook-kneed and dew-lapped like Thessalian bulls ; 25 
Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouths, like bells, 
Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
Was never hollaed to, nor cheered with horn." 

Sir Roger is so keen at this sport that he has been out almost 
every day since I came down; and upon the chaplain's offering 30 
to lend me his easy pad, I was prevailed on yesterday morning 
to make one of the company. I was extremely pleased, as we 
rid along, to observe the general benevolence of all the neigh- 
borhood toward my friend. The farmers' sons thought them- 
selves happy if they could open a gate for the good old knight 35 
as he passed by; which he generally requited with a nod or a 
smile, and a kind inquiry after their fathers and uncles. 



56 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

After we had rid about a mile from home, we came upon a 
large heath, and the sportsmen began to beat. They had done 
so for some time, when, as I was at a Httle distance from the 
rest of the company, I saw a hare pop out from a small furze- 
5 brake almost under my horse's feet. I marked the way she 
took, which I endeavored to make the company sensible of by 
extending my arm; but to no purpose, till Sir Roger, who 
knows that none of my extraordinary motions are insignificant, 
rode up to me, and asked me if puss was gone that way. Upon 

10 my answering "Yes," he immediately called in the dogs and 
put them upon the scent. As they were going off, I heard one 
of the country fellows muttering to his companion that 'twas a 
wonder they had not lost all their sport, for want of the silent 
gentleman's crying "Stole away!" 

15 This, with my aversion to leaping hedges, made me withdraw 
to a rising ground, from whence I could have the picture of the 
whole chase, without the fatigue of keeping in with the hounds. 
The hare immediately threw them above a mile behind her; 
but I was pleased to find that instead of running straight for- 

20 ward, or, in hunter's language, "flying the country," as I was 
afraid she might have done, she wheeled about, and described a 
sort of circle round the hill where I had taken my station, in 
such manner as gave me a very distinct view of the sport. I 
could see her first pass by, and the dogs some time afterward 

25 unravelling the whole track she had made, and following her 
through all her doubles. I was at the same time delighted in 
observing that deference which the rest of the pack paid to each 
.particular hound, according to the character he had acquired 
amongst them : if they were at fault, and an old hound of repu- 

30 tation opened but once, he was immediately followed by the 
whole cry; while a raw dog, or one who was a noted liar, might 
have yelped his heart out, without being taken notice of. 

The hare now, after having squatted two or three times, and 
been put up again as often, came still nearer to the place where 

35 she was at first started. The dogs pursued her, and these were 
followed by the jolly knight, who rode upon a white gelding, 
encompassed by his tenants and servants, and cheering his 
hounds with all the gayety of five-and-twenty. One of the sports- 



HUNTING WITH SIR ROGER 57 

men rode up to me, and told me that he was sure the chase was 
almost at an end, because the old dogs, which had hitherto lain 
behind, now headed the pack. The fellow was in the right. 
Our hare took a large field just under us, followed by the full 
cry "in view." I must confess the brightness of the weather, 5 
the cheerfulness of everything around me, the chiding of the 
hounds, which was returned upon us in a double echo from two 
neighboring hills, with the hollowing of the sportsmen, and the 
sounding of the horn, lifted my spirits into a most lively pleasure, 
which I freely indulged because I was sure it was innocent. If 10 
I was under any concern, it was on the account of the poor 
hare, that was now quite spent, and almost within reach of her 
enemies; when the huntsman, getting forward, threw down his 
pole before the dogs. They were now within eight yards of that 
game which they had been pursuing for almost as many hours; 15 
yet, on the signal before mentioned, they all made a sudden 
stand, and though they continued opening as much as before, 
durst not once attempt to pass beyond the pole. At the same 
time Sir Roger rode forward, and, alighting, took up the hare 
in his arms, which he soon delivered up to one of his servants 20 
with an order, if she could be kept alive, to let her go in his 
great orchard, where it seems he has several of these prisoners 
of war, who live together in a very comfortable captivity. I was 
highly pleased to see the discipline of the pack, and the good- 
nature of the knight, who could not find in his heart to murder 25 
a creature that had given him so much diversion. 

As we were returning home I remembered that Monsieur 
Pascal, in his most excellent discourse on the "Misery of Man," 
tells us that all our endeavors after greatness proceed from noth- 
ing but a desire of being surrounded by a multitude of persons 30 
and affairs that may hinder us from looking into ourselves, 
which is a view we cannot bear. He afterward goes on to 
show that our love of sports comes from the same reason, and 
is particularly severe upon hunting. "What," says he, "unless 
it be to drown thought, can make men throw away so much 35 
time and pains upon a silly animal, which they might buy 
cheaper in the market?" The foregoing reflection is certainly 
just when a man suffers his whole mind to be drawn into his 



58 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

sports, and altogether loses himself in the woods; but does not 
affect those who propose a far more laudable end from this exer- 
cise, — I mean, the preservation of health, and keeping all the 
organs of the soul in a condition to execute her orders. Had that 
5 incomparable person, whom I last quoted, been a little more 
indulgent to himself on this point, the world might probably have 
enjoyed him much longer; whereas through too great an appli- 
cation to his studies in his youth, he contracted that ill habit of 
body which, after a tedious sickness, carried him off in the 

10 fortieth year of his age; and the whole history we have of his 
life till that time, is but one continued account of the behavior 
of a noble soul struggling under innumerable pains and dis- 
tempers. 
For my own part, I intend to hunt twice a week during my 

15 stay with Sir Roger; and shall prescribe the moderate use of 
this exercise to all my country friends, as the best kind of physic 
for mending a bad constitution and preserving a good one. 

I cannot do this better than in the following lines out of Mr. 
Dryden: 

20 " The first physicians by debauch were made ; 

Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. 

By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food ; 

Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood ; 

But we their sons, a pampered race of men, 
26 Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. 

Better to hunt in fields for health unbought 

Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 

The wise for cure on exercise depend : 

God never made his work for man to mend." 

X. 



MOLL WHITE 59 



XVI 



MOLL WHITE 

[Spectator No. 117. Saturday, July 14, 1711. Addison.] 

Ipsi sibi somnia fingunt. 

— Vergil. 
[" With voluntary dreams they cheat their minds."] 

There are some opinions in which a man should stand neuter, 
without engaging his assent to one side or the other. Such a 
hovering faith as this, which refuses to settle upon any deter- 
mination, is absolutely necessary to a mind that is careful to 
avoid errors and prepossessions. When the arguments press 5 
equally on both sides in matters that are indifferent to us, the 
safest method is to give up ourselves to neither. 

It is with this temper of mind that I consider the subject of 
witchcraft. When I hear the relations that are made from all 
parts of the world, not only from Norway and Lapland, from 10 
the East and West Indies, but from every particular nation in 
Europe, I cannot forbear thinking that there is such an inter- 
course and commerce with evil spirits as that which we express 
by the name of witchcraft. But when I consider that the ig- 
norant and credulous parts of the world abound most in these 15 
relations, and that the persons among us who are supposed to 
engage in such an infernal commerce are people of a weak under- 
standing and a crazed imagination, and at the same time reflect 
upon the many impostures and delusions of this nature that have 
been detected in all ages, I endeavor to suspend my belief till 20 
I hear more certain accounts than any which have yet come 
to my knowledge. In short, when I consider the question 
whether there are such persons in the world as those we call 
witches, my mind is divided between the two opposite opinions; 
or rather (to speak my thoughts freely), I believe in general that 25 
there is, and has been, such a thing as witchcraft; but at the 
same time can give no credit to any particular instance of it. 

I am engaged in this speculation by some occurrences that I 
met with yesterday, which I shall give my reader an account of 



60 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

at large. As I was walking with my friend Sir Roger by the side 
of one of his woods, an old woman applied herself to me for 
my charity. Her dress and figure put me in mind of the follow- 
ing description in Otway: 

5 " In a close lane as I pursued my journey, 

I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double, 
Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself. 
Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red ; 
Cold palsy shook her head ; her hands seemed withered ; 

10 And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped 

The tattered remnants of an old striped hanging, 
Which served to keep her carcase from the cold : 
So there was nothing of a piece about her. 
Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patched 

15 With different colored rags — black, red, white, yellow — 

And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness." 

As I was musing on this description, and comparing it with 
the object before me, the knight told me that this very old woman 
had the reputation of a witch all over the country, that her lips 

20 were observed to be always in motion, and that there was not 
a switch about her house which her neighbors did not believe 
had carried her several hundreds of miles. If she chanced to 
stumble, they always found sticks or straws that lay in the figure 
of a cross before her. If she made any mistake at church, and 

25 cried "Amen" in a wrong place, they never failed to conclude that 
she was saying her prayers backward. There was not a maid 
in the parish that would take a pin of her, though she would 
offer a bag of money with it. She goes by the name of Moll 
White, and has made the country ring with several imaginary 

30 exploits which are palmed upon her. If the dairy-maid does 
not make her butter come so soon as she should have it, Moll 
White is at the bottom of the churn. If a horse sweats in the 
stable, Moll White has been upon his back. If a hare makes an 
unexpected escape from the hounds, the huntsman curses Moll 

35 White. "Nay," says Sir Roger, "I have known the master 
of the pack, upon such an occasion, send one of his servants 
to see if Moll White had been out that morning." 



MOLL WHITE 61 

This account raised my curiosity so far that I begged my friend 
Sir Roger to go with me into her hovel, which stood in a soHtary 
corner under the side of the wood. Upon our first entering, Sir 
Roger winked to me, and pointed at something that stood behind 
the door, which, upon looking that way, I found to be an old G 
broomstaff. At the same time he whispered me in the ear to 
take notice of a tabby cat that sat in the chimney-corner, which, 
as the old knight told me, lay under as bad a report as Moll 
White herself; for besides that Moll is said often to accompany 
her in the same shape, the cat is reported to have spoken twice 10 
or thrice in her life, and to have played several pranks above the 
capacity of an ordinary cat. 

I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so much 
wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time could not for- 
bear smiling to hear Sir Roger, who is a little puzzled about the 15 
old woman, advising her, as a justice of peace, to avoid all com- 
munication with the devil, and never to hurt any of her neigh- 
bor's cattle. We concluded our visit with a bounty, which was 
very acceptable. 

In our return home, Sir Roger told me that old Moll had been 20 
often brought before him for making children spit pins, and 
giving maids the nightmare; and that the country people would 
be tossing her into a pond and trying experiments with her every 
day, if it was not for him and his chaplain. 

I have since found, upon inquiry, that Sir Roger was several 25 
times staggered with the reports that had been brought him con- 
cerning this old woman, and would frequently have bound her 
over to the county sessions had not his chaplain with much ado 
persuaded him to the contrary. 

I have been the more particular in this account because I hear 30 
there is scarce a village in England that has not a Moll White 
in it. When an old woman begins to dote, and grow chargeable 
to a parish, she is. generally turned into a witch, and fills the 
whole country with extravagant fancies, imaginary distempers, 
and terrifying dreams. In the mean time the poor wretch that 35 
is the innocent occasion of so many evils begins to be frighted 
at herself, and sometimes confesses secret commerce and famili- 
arities that her imagination forms in a delirious old age. This 



62 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

frequently cuts off charity from the greatest objects of compas- 
sion, and inspires people with a malevolence toward those poor, 
decrepit parts of our species in whom human nature is defaced 
by infirmity and dotage. L. 

XVII 

THE PERVERSE WIDOW 

[Spectator No. 118. Monday, July 16, 1711. Steele.] 
Haeret lateri lethalis arundo. 

— VERGIIi, 

["The fatal dart 
Sticks in his side, and rankles in his heart." — Dryden.1 

5 This agreeable seat is surrounded with so many pleasing walks 
which are struck out of a wood in the midst of which the house 
stands, that one can hardly ever be weary of rambling from 
one labyrinth of delight to another. To one used to live in a 
city, the charms of the country are so exquisite that the mind is 

10 lost in a certain transport which raises us above ordinary life, 
and is yet not strong enough to be inconsistent with tranquillity. 
This state of mind was I in, ravished with the murmur of waters, 
the whisper of breezes, the singing of birds; and whether I 
looked up to the heavens, down on the earth, or turned to the 

15 prospects around me, still struck with new sense of pleasure; 
when I found by the voice of my friend, who walked by me, that 
we had insensibly strolled into the grove sacred to the widow. 
"This woman," says he, "is of all others the most unintelligible; 
she either designs to marry, or she does not. What is the most 

20 perplexing of all is, that she doth not either say to her lovers she 
has any resolution against that condition of life in general, or 
that she banishes them; but, conscious of her own merit, she 
permits their addresses without fear of any ill consequence, or 
want of respect, from their rage or despair. She has that in her 

25 aspect against which it is impossible to offend. A man whose 
thoughts are constantly bent upon so agreeable an object must 
be excused if the ordinary occurrences in conversation are below 
his attention, I call her, indeed, perverse, but, alas! why do I 



THE PERVERSE WIDOW 63 

call her so? Because her superior merit is such that I cannot 
approach her without awe, that my heart is checked by too 
much esteem ; I am angry that her charms are not more accessi- 
ble, that I am more inclined to worship than salute her; how 
often have I wished her unhappy that I might have an opportu- 5 
nity of serving her ? and how often troubled in that very imagi- 
nation, at giving her the pain of being obliged? Well, I have 
led a miserable life in secret upon her account; but fancy she 
would have condescended to have some regard for me if it had 
not been for that watchful animal, her confidante. 10 

"Of all persons under the sun" continued he, calling me by 
my name, "be sure to set a mark upon confidantes; they are 
of all people the most impertinent. What is most pleasant to 
observe in them is that they assume to themselves the merit of 
the persons whom they have in their custody. Orestilla is a 15 
great fortune, and in wonderful danger of surprises, therefore 
full of suspicions of the least indifferent thing, particularly care- 
ful of new acquaintance, and of growing too familiar with the 
old. Themista, her favorite woman, is every whit as careful of 
whom she speaks to and what she says. Let the ward be a 20 
beauty, her confidante shall treat you with an air of distance; 
let her be a fortune, and she assumes the suspicious behavior 
of her friend and patroness. Thus it is that very many of our 
unmarried women of distinction are to all intents and purposes 
married, except the consideration of different sexes. They are 25 
directly under the conduct of their whisperer, and think they 
are in a state of freedom while they can prate with one of these 
attendants of all men in general and still avoid the man they 
most like. You do not see one heiress in a hundred whose fate 
does not turn upon this circumstance of choosing a confidante. 30 
Thus it is that the lady is addressed to, presented, and flattered, 
only by proxy, in her woman. In my case, how is it possible 
that " 

Sir Roger was proceeding in his harangue, when we heard 
the voice of one speaking very impDitoeatdy, and repeating 35 
these words, "What, not one smile?" We followed the sound 
till we came to a close thicket, on the other side of which we saw 
a young woman sitting as it were in a personated sulletmess just 



64 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

over a transparent fountain. Opposite to her stood Mr. Will- 
iam, Sir Roger's master of the game. The knight whispered 
me, "Hist, these are lovers." The huntsman, looking earnestly 
at the shadow of the young maiden in the stream: " O thou dear 
5 picture, if thou couldst remain there in the absence of that fair 
creature, whom you represent in the water, how willingly could 
I stand here satisfied forever, without troubling my dear Betty 
herself with any mention of her unfortunate William, whom she 
is angry with; but alas! when she pleases to be gone, thou wilt 

10 also vanish — yet let me talk to thee while thou dost stay. Tell 
my dearest Betty thou dost not more depend upon her than 
does her William; her absence will make away with me as well 
as thee. If she offers to remove thee, I'll jump into these waves 
to lay hold on thee; herself, her own dear person, I must never 

15 embrace again. Still do you hear me without one smile? — it 
is too much to bear." He had no sooner spoke these words 
but he made an offer of throwing himself into the water; at which 
his mistress started up, and at the next instant he jumped across 
the fountain and met her in an embrace. She, half recovering 

20 from her fright, said in the most charming voice imaginable, 
and with a tone of complaint, "I thought how well you would 
drown yourself. No, no, you won't drown yourself till you have 
taken your leave of Susan HoUiday." The huntsman, with a 
tenderness that spoke of the most passionate love, and with his 

25 cheek close to hers, whispered the softest vows of fidelity in her 
ear, and cried, "Don't, my dear, believe a word Kate Willow 
says ; she is spiteful and makes stories, because she loves to hear 
me talk to herself for your sake." 

"Look you there," quoth Sir Roger, "do you see there, all 

30 mischief comes from confidantes ! But let us not interrupt them ; 
the maid is honest, and the man dares not be otherwise, for 
he knows I loved her father; I will interpose in this matter, 
and hasten the wedding. Kate Willow is a witty, mischievous 
wench in the neighborhood, who was a beauty; and makes me 

35 hope I shall see the perverse widow in her condition. She was 
so flippant with her answers to all the honest fellows that came 
near her, and so very vain of her beauty, that she has valued 
herself upon her charms till they are ceased. She therefore now 



THE PERVERSE WIDOW 65 

makes it her business to prevent other young women from being 
more discreet than she was herself; however, the saucy thing 
said the other day well enough, 'Sir Roger and I must make a 
match, for we are both despised by those we loved.' The 
hussy has a great deal of power wherever she comes, and has 5 
her share of cunning. 

''However, when I reflect upon this woman, I do not know 
whether in the main I am the worse for having loved her; when- 
ever she is recalled to my imagination my youth returns, and I 
feel a forgotten warmth in my veins. This aflSiction in my life 10 
has streaked all my conduct with a softness of which I should 
otherwise have been incapable. It is, perhaps, to this dear image 
in my heart owing, that I am apt to relent, that I easily forgive, 
and that many desirable things are grown into my temper which 
I should not have arrived at by better motives than the thought 15 
of being one day hers. I am pretty well satisfied such a passion 
as I have had is never well cured; and between you and me, I 
am often apt to imagine it has had some whimsical effect upon 
my brain. For I frequently find that in my most serious dis- 
course I let fall some comical familiarity of speech or odd phrase 20 
that makes the company laugh; however, I cannot but allow she 
is a most excellent woman. When she is in the country, I war- 
rant she does not run into dairies, but reads upon the nature of 
plants; but has a glass hive, and comes into the garden out of 
books to see them work, and observe the policies of their com- 25 
monwealth. She understands everything. I'd give ten pounds 
to hear her argue with my friend Sir Andrew Freeport about 
trade. No, no; for all she looks so innocent, as it were, take 
my word for it she is no fool." T. 



66 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



XVIII 

MANNERS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 

[Spectator No. 119. Tuesday, July 17, 1711. Addison.] 

Urbem quam dicunt Romam, Meliboee, putavi 

Stultus ego huic nostrae similem . 

— Vergil. 
("The city men call Rome, unskilful clown, 
I thought resembled this our humble town." 

— Warton.] 

The first and most obvious reflections which arise in a man who 
changes the city for the country, are upon the different manners 
of the people whom he meets with in those two different scenes 
of Hfe. By manners I do not mean morals, but behavior and 
5 good breeding as they show themselves in the town and in the 
country. 

And here, in the first place, I must observe a very great revo- 
lution that has happened in this article of good breeding. Sev- 
eral obliging deferences, condescensions, and submissions, with 

10 many outward forms and ceremonies that accompany them, 
were first of all brought up among the politer part of mankind, 
who lived in courts and cities, and distinguished themselves 
from the rustic part of the species, who on all occasions acted 
bluntly and naturally, by such a mutual complaisance and inter- 

15 course of civilities. These forms of conversation by degrees mul- 
tiplied and grew troublesome; the modish world found too great 
a constraint in them, and have therefore thrown most of them 
aside. Conversation was so encumbered with show and ceremony 
that it stood in need of a reformation to retrench its superfluities 

20 and restore it to its natural good sense and beauty. At present, 
therefore, an unconstrained carriage, and a certain openness 
of behavior are the height of good breeding. The fashionable 
world is grown free and easy; our manners sit more loose upon 
us. Nothing is so modish as an agreeable negligence. In a 

25 word, good breeding shows itself most where, to an ordinary eye, 
it appears the least. 



MANNERS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 67 

If after this we look on the people of mode in the country, we 
find in them the manners of the last age. They have no sooner 
fetched themselves up to the fashion of the polite world but the 
town has dropped them, and are nearer to the first state of nature 
than to those refinements which formerly reigned in the court and 5 
still prevail in the country. One may now know a man that 
never conversed in the world by his excess of good breeding. 
A polite country squire shall make you as many bows in half an 
hour as would serve a courtier for a week. There is infinitely 
more to do about place and precedency in a meeting of justices' 10 
wives than in an assembly of duchesses. 

This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man of my tem- 
per, who generally take the chair that is next me, and walk 
first or last, in the front or in the rear, as chance directs. I 
have kno\STi my friend Sir Roger's dinner almost cold before the 15 
company could adjust the ceremonial, and be prevailed upon to 
sit down; and have heartily pitied my old friend, when I have 
seen him forced to pick and cull his guests as they sat at the 
several parts of his table, that he might drink their healths ac- 
cording to their respective ranks and qualities. Honest Will 20 
Wimble, who I should have thought had been altogether unin- 
fected with ceremony, gives me abundance of trouble in this par- 
ticular. Though he has been fishing all the morning, he will 
not help himself at dinner till I am served. When we are going 
out of the hall, he runs behind me; and last night, as we were 25 
walking in the fields, stopped short at a stile till I came up to it, 
and upon making signs to him to get over, told me, with a seri- 
ous smile that, sure, I believed they had no manners in the 
country. 

There has happened another revolution in the point of good 30 
breeding, which related to the conversation among men of 
mode, and which I cannot but look upon as very extraordinary. 
It was certainly one of the first distinctions of a well-bred man 
to express everything that had the most remote appearance of 
being obscene in modest terms and distant phrases; whilst the 35 
clown, who had no such delicacy of conception and expression, 
clothed his ideas in those plain, homely terms that are the most 
obvious and natural. This kind of good manners was perhaps 



68 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

carried to an excess, so as to make conversation too stiff, formal, 
and precise; for which reason, as hypocrisy in one age is gen- 
erally succeeded by atheism in another, conversation is in a 
great measure relapsed into the first extreme; so that at present 
5 several of our men of the town, and particularly those who have 
been polished in France, make use of the most coarse, uncivilized 
words in our language, and utter themselves often in such a 
manner as a clown would blush to hear. 

This infamous piece of good breeding which reigns among 

10 the coxcombs of the town has not yet made its way into the 
country; and as it is impossible for such an irrational way of 
conversation to last long among a people that make any profes- 
sion of religion or show of modesty, if the country gentlemen 
get into it they will certainly be left in the lurch. Their good 

15 breeding will come too late to them, and they will be thought a 
parcel of lewd clowns, while they fancy themselves talking to- 
gether like men of wit and pleasure. 

As the two points of good breeding which I have hitherto 
insisted upon regard behavior and conversation, there is a third 

20 which turns upon dress. In this, too, the country are very much 
behindhand. The rural beaus are not yet got out of the fashion 
that took place at the time of the Revolution, but ride about the 
country in red coats and laced hats, while the women in many 
parts are still trying to outvie one another in the height of their 

25 head-dresses. 

But a friend of mine, who is now upon the western circuit, 
having promised to give me an account of the several modes and 
fashions that prevail in the different parts of the nation through 
which he passes, I shall defer the enlarging upon this last topic 

30 till I have received a letter from him, which I expect every post. 

L. 



. SIR ROGER'S POULTRY 69 

XIX 

SIR Roger's poultry 
[Spectator No. 120. Wednesday, July 18, 1711. Addison.] 

Equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis 

Ingenium . 

— Vergil. 

[" 1 deem their breasts inspired 

With a divine sagacity."] 

My friend Sir Roger is very often merry with me upon my pass- 
ing so much of my time among his poultry. He has caught me 
twice or thrice looking after a bird's nest, and several times sit- 
ting an hour or two together near an hen and chickens. He tells 
me he believes I am personally acquainted with every fowl about 5 
his house; calls such a particular cock my favorite, and fre- 
quently complains that his ducks and geese have more of my 
company than himself. 

I must confess I am infinitely delighted with those specula- 
tions of nature which are to be made in a country life; and as 10 
my reading has very much lain among books of natural history, 
I cannot forbear recollecting upon this occasion the several re- 
marks which I have met with in authors, and comparing them 
with what falls under my own observation, — the arguments for 
Providence drawn from the natural history of animals being, in 15 
my opinion, demonstrative. 

The make of every kind of animal is different from that of 
every other kind; and yet there is not the least turn in the 
muscles or twist in the fibres of any one, which does not render 
them more proper for that particular animal's way of life than 20 
any other cast or texture of them would have been. . . . 

It is astonishing to consider the different degrees of care that 
descend from the parent to the young, so far as is absolutely 
necessary for the leaving a posterity. Some creatures cast their 
eggs as chance directs them, and think of them no farther, as 25 
insects and several kinds of fish; others, of a nicer frame, find out 



70 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

proper beds to deposit them in, and there leave them, as the ser- 
pent, the crocodile, and ostrich; others hatch their eggs and 
tend the birth till it is able to shift for itself. 

What can we call the principle which directs every different 
5 kind of bird to observe a particular plan in the structure of its 
nest, and directs all of the same species to work after the same 
model ? It cannot be imitation ; for though you hatch a crow 
under a hen, and never let it see any of the works of its own 
kind, the nest it makes shall be the same, to the laying of a stick, 

10 with all the other nests of the same species. It cannot be reason; 

for were animals indued with it to as great a degree as man, 

their buildings would be as different as ours, according to the 

different coveniences that they would propose to themselves. 

Is it not remarkable that the same temper of weather which 

15 raises this genial warmth in animals, should cover the trees with 
leaves, and the fields with grass, for their security and conceal- 
ment, and produce such infinite swarms of insects for the sup- 
port and sustenance of their respective broods? 

Is it not wonderful that the love of the parent should be so 

20 violent while it lasts, and that it should last no longer than is 
necessary for the preservation of the young? . . . For so soon 
as the wants of the latter cease, the mother withdraws her fond- 
ness, and leaves them to provide for themselves; and what is a 
very remarkable circumstance in this part of instinct, we find 

25 that the love of the parent may be lengthened out beyond its 
usual time, if the preservation of the species requires it: as we 
may see in birds that drive away their young as soon as they 
are able to get their livelihood, but continue to feed them if they 
are tied to the nest, or confined within a cage, or by any other 

30 means appear to be out of a condition of supplying their own 
necessities. . . . This natural love is not observed in animals 
to ascend from the young to the parent, which is not at all 
necessary for the continuance of the species: nor indeed in 
reasonable creatures does it rise in any proportion, as it spreads 

35 itself downwards; for in all family affection we find protection 
granted and favors bestowed are greater motives to love and 
tenderness than safety, benefits, or life received. 
One would wonder to hear skeptical men disputing for the 



SIR ROGER'S POULTRY 71 

reason of animals, and telling us it is only our pride and 
prejudices that will not allow them the use of that faculty. 

Reason shows itself in all occurrences of life; whereas the 
brute makes no discovery of such a talent but in what im- 
mediately regards his own preservation or the continuance of 5 
his species. 

Animals in their generation are wiser than the sons of men, 
but their wisdom is confined to a few particulars, and lies in a 
very narrow compass. Take a brute out of his instinct, and 
you find him wholly deprived of understanding. To use an 10 
instance that comes often under observation: 

With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest in 
places unfrequented and free from noise and disturbance! 
When she has laid her eggs in such a manner that she can cover 
them, what care does she take in turning them frequently, that 15 
all parts may partake of the vital warmth! When she leaves 
them, to provide for her necessary sustenance, how punctually 
does she return before they have time to cool and become 
incapable of producing an animal! In the summer you see her 
giving herself greater freedoms, and quitting her care for above 20 
two hours together; but in winter, when the rigor of the season 
would chill the principles of life, and destroy the young one, 
she grows more assiduous in her attendance, and stays away 
but half the time. When the birth approaches, with how much 
nicety and attention does she help the chick to break its prison! 25 
not to take notice of her covering it from the injuries of the 
weather, providing it proper nourishment, and teaching it to 
help itself; nor to mention her forsaking the nest, if after the 
usual time of reckoning the young one does not make its ap- 
pearance. A chemical operation could not be followed with 30 
greater art or diligence than is seen in the hatching of a chick; 
though there are many other birds that show an infinitely greater 
sagacity in all the forementioned particulars. 

But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming in- 
genuity, which is indeed absolutely necessary for the propaga- 35 
tion of the species, considered in other respects, is without the 
least glimmerings of thought or common-sense. She mistakes a 
piece of chalk for an egg, and sits upon it in the same manner; 



72 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

she is insensible of any increase or diminution in the number of 
those she lays; she does not distinguish between her own and 
those of another species; and when the birth appears of never 
so different a bird will cherish it for her own. In all these cir- 
5 cumstances which do not carry an immediate regard to the 
subsistence of herself or her species, she is a very idiot. 

There is not, in my opinion, anything more mysterious in 
nature than this instinct in animals, w^hich thus rises above 
reason, and falls infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted 

10 for by any properties in matter, and at the same time works 
after so odd a manner that one cannot think it the faculty of 
an intellectual bemg. For my own part, I look upon it as 
upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be 
explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies them- 

15 selves, nor from any laws of mechanism, but, according to the 
best notions of the greatest philosophers, is an immediate im- 
pression from the first Mover and the Divine Energy acting in 
the creatures. L. 

XX 

THE spectator's PLEASANT DAY 

[Spectator No. 122. Friday, July 20, 1711. Addison.] 

Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est. 

— PuBLius Syrus. 

["An agreeable companion on the road is as good as a coach."] 

A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own 
20 heart; his next, to escape the censures of the world. If the 

last interferes with the former, it ought to be entirely neglected; 

but otherwise there cannot be a greater satisfaction to an honest 

mind than to see those approbations which it gives itself seconded 

by the applauses of the public. A man is more sure of his con- 
25 duct when the verdict which he passes upon his own behavior is 

thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion of all that know 

him. 

My worthy friend Sir Roger is one of those who is not only 

at peace within himself but beloved and esteemed by all about 



THE SPECTATOR'S PLEASANT DAY 73 

him. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal benevo- 
lence to mankind in the returns of affection and good-will 
which are paid him by every one that lives within his neighbor- 
hood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that 
general respect which is shown to the good old knight. He 5 
would needs carry Will Wimble and myself with him to the 
county assizes. As we were upon the road, Will Wimble joined 
a couple of plain men who rid before us, and conversed with 
them for some time, during which my friend Sir Roger ac- 
quainted me with their characters. 10 

"The first of them," says he, "that has a spaniel by his side, 
is a yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year, an honest man. 
He is just within the Game Act, and qualified to kill an hare or 
a pheasant. He knocks down a dinner with his gun twice or 
thrice a week; and by that means lives much cheaper than those 15 
who have not so good an estate as himself. He would be a 
good neighbor if he did not destroy so many partridges; in short 
he is a very sensible man, shoots flying, and has been several 
times foreman of the petty-jury. 

"The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy, a fellow 20 
famous for taking the law of everybody. There is not one in 
the town where he lives that he has not sued at a quarter-ses- 
sions. The rogue had once the impudence to go to law with the 
widow. His head is full of costs, damages, and ejectments; he 
plagued a couple of honest gentlemen so long for a trespass in 25 
breaking one of his hedges, till he was forced to sell the ground 
it enclosed to defray the charges of the prosecution. His father 
left him fourscore pounds a year, but he has cast and been cast 
so often that he is not now worth thirty. I suppose he is going 
upon the old business of the willow tree." 30 

As Sir Roger was giving me this account of Tom Touchy, Will 
Wimble and his two companions stopped short till we came up 
to them. After having paid their respects to Sir Roger, Will 
told him that Mr. Touchy and he must appeal to him upon a dis- 
pute that arose between them. Will, it seems, had been giving 35 
his fellow-traveller an account of his angling one day in such a 
hole; when Tom Touchy, instead of hearing out his story, told 
him that Mr. Such-an-one, if he pleased, might take the law of 



74 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

him for fishing in that part of the river. My friend Sir Roger 
heard them both, upon a round trot; and, after having paused 
some time, told them, with the air of a man who would not give 
his judgment rashly, that much might be said on both sides. 
5 They were neither of them dissatisfied with the knight's deter- 
mination, because neither of them found himself in the wrong 
by it. Upon which we made the best of our way to the assizes. 
The court was sat before Sir Roger came; but notwithstanding 
all the justices had taken their places upon the bench, they made 

10 room for the old knight at the head of them; who, for his repu- 
tation in the country, took occasion to whisper in the judge's ear 
that he was glad his lordship had met with so much good weather 
in his circuit. I was listening to the proceeding of the court with 
much attention, and infinitely pleased with that great appearance 

15 and solemnity which so properly accompanies such a public 
administration of our laws, when, after about an hour's sitting, 
I observed, to my great surprise, in the midst of a trial, that my 
friend Sir Roger was getting up to speak. I was in some pain 
for him, till I found he had acquitted himself of two or three 

20 sentences, with a look of much business and great intrepidity. 

Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a general 

whisper ran among the country people that Sir Roger was up. 

The speech he made was so little to the purpose that I shall 

not trouble my readers with an account of it; and I believe 

25 was not so much designed by the knight himself to inform the 
court, as to give him a figure in my eye, and keep up his credit 
in the country. 

I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the gentle- 
men of the country gathering about my old friend, and striving 

30 who should compliment him most; at the same time that the 
ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, not a little admir- 
ing his courage that was not afraid to speak to the judge. 

In our return home we met with a very odd accident, which 
I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how desirous all 

35 who know Sir Roger are of giving him marks of their esteem. 
When we were arrived upon the verge of his estate, we stopped 
at a little inn to rest ourselves and our horses. The man of the 
house had, it seems, been formerly a servant in the knight's 



THE SPECTATOR'S PLEASANT DAY 75 

family; and, to do honor to his old master, had some time since, 
unknown to Sir Roger, put him up in a sign-post before the door; 
so that the knight's head had hung out upon the road about a 
week before he himself knew anything of the matter. As soon 
as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, finding that his servant's 5 
indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection and good-will, he 
only told him that he had made him too high a compliment; and 
when the fellow seemed to think that could hardly be, added, 
with a more decisive look, that it was too great an honor for any 
man under a duke; but told him at the same time that it might lO 
be altered with a very few touches, and that he himself would 
be at the charge of it. Accordingly they got a painter, by the 
knight's directions, to add a pair of whiskers to the face, and by 
a little aggravation to the features to change it into the Saracen's 
Head. I should not have known this story had not the inn- 15 
keeper, upon Sir Roger's alighting, told him in my hearing that 
his honor's head was brought back last night with the alterations 
that he had ordered to be made in it. Upon this, my friend, 
with his usual cheerfulness, related the particulars above men- 
tioned, and ordered the head to be brought into the room. I 20 
could not forbear discovering greater expressions of mirth than 
ordinary upon the appearance of this monstrous face, under 
which, notwithstanding it was made to frown and stare in a 
most extraordinary manner, I could still discover a distant re- 
semblance of my old friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh, 25 
desired me to tell him truly if I thought it possible for people 
to know him in that disguise. I at first kept my usual silence; 
but upon the knight's conjuring me to tell him whether it was 
not still more Kke himself than a Saracen, I composed my 
countenance in the best manner I could, and replied that much 30 
might be said on both sides. 

These several adventures, with the knight's behavior in them, 
gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any of my travels. 

L. 



76 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

XXI 

THE TRAINING OF AN HEIR 

[Spectator No. 123. Saturday, July 21, 1711. Addison.] 

Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam 
Rectique cultus pectora roborant; 
Utcunque defecere mores, 
Dedecorant bene nata culpae. 

— Horace. 
("Yet the best blood by learning is refined, 
And virtue arms the solid mind; 
Whilst vice will stamp the noblest race, 
And the paternal stamp efface." — Oldis worth.] 

As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend Sir Roger, we 
were met by a fresh-colored, ruddy young man, who rid by us 
full speed, with a couple of servants behind him. Upon my 
inquiry who he was, Sir Roger told me that he was a young gen- 
5 tleman of a considerable estate, who had been educated by a 
tender mother that lives not many miles from the place where 
we were. She is a very good lady, says my friend, but took so 
much care of her son's health, that she has made him good for 
nothing. She quickly found that reading was bad for his eyes, 

10 and that writing made his head ache. He was let loose among 
the woods as soon as he was able to ride on horseback, or to 
carry a gun upon his shoulder. To be brief, I found by my 
friend's account of him, that he had got a great stock of health, 
but nothing else; and that, if it were a man's business only 

15 to live, there would not be a more accomplished young fellow 
in the whole country. 

The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts I have seen 
and heard innumerable instances of young heirs and elder 
brothers who — either from their own reflecting upon the estates 

20 they are born to, and therefore thinking all other accomplish- 
ments unnecessary; or from hearing these notions frequently 
inculcated to them by the flattery of their servants and domes- 
tics; or from the same foolish thought prevailing in those who 
have the care of their education — are of no manner of use but 



1 



THE TRAINING OF AN HEIR 77 

to keep up their families, and transmit their lands and houses 
in a line to posterity. 

This makes me often think on a story I have heard of two 
friends, which I shall give my reader at large under feigned 
names. The moral of it may, I hope, be useful, though there 5 
are some circumstances which make it rather appear like a 
novel than a true story. 

Eudoxus and Leontine began the world with small estates. 
They were both of them men of good sense and great virtue. 
They prosecuted their studies together ih their earlier years, 10 
and entered into such a friendship as lasted to the end of their 
lives. Eudoxus, at his first setting out in the world, threw him- 
self into a court, where by his natural endowments and his ac- 
quired abilities he made his way from one post to another, till at 
length he had raised a very considerable fortune. Leontine, on 15 
the contrary, sought all opportunities of improving his mind by 
study, conversation, and travel. He was not only acquainted 
with all the sciences, but the most eminent professors of them 
throughout Europe. He knew perfectly well the interests of its 
princes, with the customs and fashions of their courts, and could 20 
scarce meet with the name of an extraordinary person in The 
Gazette whom he had not either talked to or seen. In short, he 
had so well mixed and digested his knowledge of men and books 
that he made one of the most accomplished persons of his age. 
During the whole course of his studies and travels he kept up a 25 
punctual correspondence with Eudoxus, who often made himself 
acceptable to the principal men about court by the intelligence 
which he received from Leontine. When they were both turned 
of forty — an age in which, according to Mr. Cowley, "there is no 
dallying with life" — they determined, pursuant to the resolution 30 
they had taken in the beginning of their lives, to retire, and pass 
the remainder of their days in the country. In order to this, 
they both of them married much about the same time. Leon- 
tine, with his own and his wife's fortune, bought a farm of 
three hundred a year, which lay within the neighborhood of his 35 
friend Eudoxus, who had purchased an estate of as many thou- 
sands. They were both of them fathers about the same time, 
Eudoxus having a son bom to him, and Leontine a daughter; 



78 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

but, to the unspeakable grief of the latter, his young wife, in 
whom all his happiness was wrapt up, died a few days after the 
birth of her daughter. His affliction would have been insup- 
portable had not he been comforted by the daily visits and con- 
5 versations of his friend. As they were one day talking together 
with their usual intimacy, Leontine considering how incapable he 
was of giving his daughter a proper education in his own house, 
and Eudoxus reflecting on the ordinary behavior of a son who 
knows himself to be the heir of a great estate, they both agreed 

10 upon an exchange of -children; namely, that the boy should be 
bred up with Leontine as his son, and that the girl should live 
with Eudoxus as his daughter, till they were each of them arrived 
at years of discretion. The wife of Eudoxus, knowing that her 
son could not be so advantageously brought up as under the care 

15 of Leontine, and considering at the same time that he would be 
perpetually under her own eye, was by degrees prevailed upon 
to fall in with the project. She therefore took Leonilla, for that 
was the name of the girl, and educated her as her own daughter. 
The two friends on each side had wrought themselves to such an 

20 habitual tenderness for the children who were under their direc- 
tion, that each of them had the real passion of a father, where 
the title was but imaginary. Florio, the name of the young heir 
that lived with Leontine, though he had all the duty and affection 
imaginable for his supposed parent, was taught to rejoice at the 

25 sight of Eudoxus, who visited his friend very frequently, and was 
dictated by his natural affection, as well as by the rules of pru- 
dence, to make himself esteemed and beloved by Florio. The 
boy was now old enough to know his supposed father's circum- 
stances, and that therefore he was to make his way in the world 

30 by his own industry. This consideration grew stronger in him 
every day, and produced so good an effect that he applied himself 
with more than ordinary attention to the pursuit of everything 
which Leontine recommended to him. His natural abilities, 
which were very good, assisted by the directions of so excellent 

35 a counsellor, enabled him to make a quicker progress than ordi- 
nary through all the parts of his education. Before he was 
twenty years of age, having finished his studies and exercises 
with great applause, he was removed from the University to the 



THE TRAINING OF AN HEIR 79 

Inns of Court, where there are very few that make themselves 
considerable proficients in the studies of the place who know 
they shall arrive at great estates without them. This was not 
Florio's case; he found that three hundred a year was but a poor 
estate for Leontine and himself to live upon, so that he studied 5 
without intermission till he gained a very good insight into the 
constitution and laws of his country. 

I should have told my reader, that w^hilst Florio lived at the 
house of his foster-father he was always an acceptable guest in 
the family of Eudoxus, where he became acquainted with Le- lO 
onllla from her infancy. His acquaintance with her, by degrees 
grew into love, which in a mind trained up in all the sentiments 
of honor and virtue became a very uneasy passion. He de- 
spaired of gaining an heiress of so great a fortune, and would 
rather have died than attempted it by any indirect methods. Le- 15 
onilla, who was a woman of the greatest beauty joined with the 
greatest modesty, entertained at the same time a secret passion 
for Florio, but conducted herself with so much prudence that 
she never gave him the least intimation of it. Florio was now 
engaged in all those arts and improvements that are proper to 20 
raise a man's private fortune, and give him a figure in his country, 
but secretly tormented with that passion which burns with the 
greatest fury in a virtuous and noble heart, when he received a 
sudden summons from Leontine to repair to him into the coun- 
try the next day. For it seems Eudoxus was so filled with the 25 
report of his son's reputation that he could no longer withhold 
making himself known to him. The morning after his arrival 
at the house of his supposed father, Leontine told him that 
Eudoxus had something of great importance to communicate 
to him; upon which the good man embraced him and wept. 30 
Florio was no sooner arrived at the great house that stood in 
his neighborhood but Eudoxus took him by the hand, after the 
first salutes were over, and conducted him into his closet. He 
there opened to him the whole secret of his parentage and edu- 
cation, concluding after this manner: "I have no other way left 35 
of acknowledging my gratitude to Leontine than by marrying 
you to his daughter. He shall not lose the pleasure of being 
your father by the discovery I have made to you. Leonilla, too, 



80 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

shall be still my daughter; her filial piety, though misplaced, 
has been so exemplary that it deserves the greatest reward I can 
confer upon it. You shall have the pleasure of seeing a great 
estate fall to you, which you would have lost the relish of had you 
5 known yourself born to it. Continue only to deserve it in the 
same manner you did before you were possessed of it. I have left 
your mother in the next room. Her heart yearns toward you. 
She is making the same discoveries to Leonilla which I have made 
to yourself." Florio was so overwhelmed with this profusion of 

10 happiness that he was not able to make a reply, but threw him- 
self down at his father's feet, and amidst a flood of tears kissed 
and embraced his knees, asking his blessing, and expressing in 
dumb show those sentiments of love, duty, and gratitude that 
were too big for utterance. To conclude, the happy pair were 

15 married, and half Eudoxus's estate settled upon them. Leon- 
tine and Eudoxus passed the remainder of their lives together; 
and received in the dutiful and affectionate behavior of Florio 
and Leonilla the just recompense, as well as the natural effects, 
of that care which they had bestowed upon them in their edu- 

20 cation. L. 



xxn 

ON PARTY SPIRIT 

[Spectator No. 125. Tuesday, July 24, 171 L Addison.] 

Ne, pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella: 
Neu patriae validas in viscera vertite vires. 

— Vergil. 

["This thirst of kindred blood, my sires, detest, 

Nor turn your force against your country's breast." 

— Dryden.J 

My worthy friend, Sir Roger, when we are talking of the malice 
of parties, very frequently tells us an accident that happened 
to him when he was a school-boy, which was at a time when 
the feuds ran high between the Roundheads and Cavaliers. This 
25 worthy knight, being then but a stripling, had occasion to inquire 
which was the way to St. Anne's Lane, upon which the person 



ON PARTY SPIRIT 81 

whom he spoke to, instead of answering his question, called him 
a young popish cur, and asked him who had made Anne a saint! 
The boy, being in some confusion, inquired of the next he met, 
which was the way to Anne's Lane; but was called a prick-eared 
cur for his pains, and instead of being shown the way was told 5 
that she had been a saint before he was born, and would be one 
after he was hanged. "Upon this," says Sir Roger, "I did not 
think fit to repeat the former question, but going into every lane 
of the neighborhood, asked what they called the name of that 
lane." By which ingenious artifice he found out the place he 10 
inquired after, without giving offence to any party. Sir Roger 
generally closes this narrative with reflections on the mischief 
that parties do in the country; how they spoil good neighborhood, 
and make honest gentlemen hate one another; besides that they 
manifestly tend to the prejudice of the land-tax, and the destruc- 15 
tion of the game. 

There cannot a greater judgment befall a country than such a 
dreadful spirit of division as rends a government into two dis- 
tinct people, and makes them greater strangers and more averse 
to one another than if they were actually two different nations. 20 
The effects of such a division are pernicious to the last degree, 
not only with regard to those advantages which they give the 
common enemy, but to those private evils which they produce in 
the heart of almost every particular person. This influence is 
very fatal both to men's morals and their understandings; it 25 
sinks the virtue of a nation, and not only so, but destroys even 
common sense. 

A furious party spirit, when it rages in its full violence, exerts 
itself in civil war and bloodshed; and when it is under its great- 
est restraints naturally breaks out in falsehood, detraction, 30 
calumny, and a partial administration of justice. In a word, it 
fills a nation with spleen and rancor, and extinguishes all the 
seeds of good-nature, compassion, and humanity. 

Plutarch says, very finely, that a man should not allow himself 
to hate even his enemies; — "Because," says he, "if you indulge 35 
this passion in some occasions, it will rise of itself in others; if 
you hate your enemies, you will contract such a vicious habit of 
mind as by degrees will break out upon those who are your 



82 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

friends, or those who are mdifferent to you." I might here 
observe how admirably this precept of morality, which derives 
the malignity of hatred from the passion itself, and not from its 
object, answers to that great rule which was dictated to the world 
5 about an hundred years before this philosopher wrote; but in- 
stead of that, I shall only take notice, with a real grief of heart, 
that the minds of many good men among us appear soured with 
party principles, and alienated from one another in such a man- 
ner as seems to me altogether inconsistent with the dictates 

10 either of reason or religion. Zeal for a public cause is apt to 
breed passions in the hearts of virtuous persons to which the 
regard of their own private interest would never have betrayed 
them. 

If this party spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it has 

15 likewise a very great one upon our judgments. We often hear 
a poor, insipid paper or pamphlet cried up, and sometimes a 
noble piece depreciated, by those who are of a different principle 
from the author. One who is actuated by this spirit is almost 
under an incapacity of discerning either real blemishes or beau- 

20 ties. A man of merit in a different principle is like an object 
seen in two different mediums, that appears crooked or broken, 
however straight or entire it may be in itself. For this reason, 
there is scarce a person of any figure in England who does not go 
by two contrary characters, as opposite to one another as light 

25 and darkness. Knowledge and learning suffer in a particular 
manner from this strange prejudice, which at present prevails 
amongst all ranks and degrees in the British nation. As men 
formerly became eminent in learned societies by their parts 
and acquisitions, they now distinguish themselves by the warmth 

30 and violence with which they espouse their respective parties. 
Books are valued upon the like considerations. An abusive, 
scurrilous style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party 
notions is called fine writing. 

There is one piece of sophistry practised by both sides, and 

35 that is the taking any scandalous story that has been ever 
whispered or invented of a private man for a known, undoubted 
truth, and raising suitable speculations upon it. Calumnies that 
have never been proved, or have been often refuted, are the or- 



ON PARTY SPIRIT 83 

dinarypostulatums of these infamous scribblers, upon which they 
proceed as upon first principles granted by all men, though in 
their hearts they know they are false, or at best very doubtful. 
When they have laid these foundations of scurrility, it is no 
wonder that their superstructure is every way answerable to 5 
them. If this shameless practice of the present age endures 
much longer, praise and reproach will cease to be motives of 
action in good men. 

There are certain periods of time in all governments when 
this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was long torn in pieces by lO 
the Guelphs and Ghibellines, and France by those who were 
for and against the League; but it is very unhappy for a man 
to be born in such a stormy and tempestuous season. It is the 
restless ambition of artful men that thus breaks a people into 
factions, and draws several well-meaning persons to their inter- 15 
est by a specious concern for their country. How many honest 
minds are filled with uncharitable and barbarous notions, out 
of their zeal for the public good! What cruelties and outrages 
would they not commit against men of an adverse party, whom 
they would honor and esteem, if, instead of considering them as 20 
they are represented, they knew them as they are! Thus are 
persons of the greatest probity seduced into shameful errors and 
prejudices, and made bad men even by that noblest of principles, 
the " love of their country." I cannot here forbear mentioning 
the famous Spanish proverb, "If there were neither fools nor 25 
knaves in the world, all people would be of one mind." 

For my own part, I could heartily wish that all honest men 
would enter into an association for the support of one another 
against the endeavors of those whom they ought to look upon as 
their common enemies, whatsoever side they may belong to. 30 
Were there such an honest body of neutral forces, we should 
never see the worst of men in great figures of life, because they 
are useful to a .party; nor the best unregarded, because they are 
above practising those methods which would be grateful to their 
faction. We should then single every criminal out of the herd, 35 
and hunt him down, however formidable and overgrown he 
might appear. On the contrary, we should shelter distressed inno- 
cence, and defend virtue, however beset with contempt or ridi- 



84 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

cule, envy or defamation. In short, we should not any longer 
regard our fellow subjects as Whigs or Tories, but should make 
the man of merit our friend, and the villain our enemy. 

C. 



XXIII 

PARTY PREJUDICE 

[Spectator No. 126. Wednesday, July 25, 1711. Addison.] 

Tros Rutulusve fuat, nuUo discrimine habebo. 

— Vergil. 

["Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me." — Dryden.] 

In my yesterday's paper, I proposed that the honest men of all 
5 parties should enter into a kind of association for the defence of 
one another and the confusion of their common enemies. As it 
is designed this neutral body should act with a regard to nothing 
but truth and equity, and divest themselves of the little heats 
and prepossessions that cleave to parties of all kinds, I have pre- 
10 pared for them the following form of an association, which may 
express their intentions in the most plain and simple manner: 

"We whose names are hereunto subscribed, do solemnly de- 
clare that we do in our consciences believe two and two make 
four; and that we shall adjudge any man whatsoever to be our 

15 enemy who endeavors to persuade us to the contrary. 

"We are likewise ready to maintain, with the hazard of all 
that is near and dear to us, that six is less than seven in all times 
and all places, and that ten will not be more three years hence 
than it is at present. 

20 "We do also firmly declare, that it is our resolution as long 
as we live to call black black, and white white. And we shall 
upon all occasions oppose such persons that, upon any day of the 
year, shall call black white, or white black, with the- utmost 
peril of our lives and fortunes." 

25 Were there such a combination of honest men, who without 
any regard to places would endeavor to extirpate all such furious 
zealots as would sacrifice one half of their country to the passion 



i 



PARTY PREJUDICE 85 

and interest of the other; as also such infamous hypocrites that 
are for promoting their own advantage under color of the public 
good; with all the profligate, immoral retainers to each side, that 
have nothing to recommend them but an implicit submission to 
their leaders; — we should soon see that furious party spirit ex- 5 
tinguished which may in time expose us to the derision and 
contempt of all the nations about us. 

A member of this society that would thus carefully employ 
himself in making room for merit by throwing down the worth- 
less and depraved part of mankind from those conspicuous sta- 10 
tions of life to which they have been sometimes advanced, and 
all this without any regard to his private interest, would be no 
small benefactor to his country. 

I remember to have read in Diodorus Siculus an account of a 
very active little animal, which I think he calls the ichneumon, 15 
that makes it the whole business of his life to break the eggs of 
the crocodile, which he is always in search after. This instinct 
is the more remarkable because the ichneumon never feeds upon 
the eggs he has broken, nor in any other way finds his account 
in them. Were it not for the incessant labors of this industrious 20 
animal, Egypt, says the historian, would be overrun with croco- 
diles; for the Egyptians are so far from destroying those per- 
nicious creatures that they worship them as gods. 

If we look into the behavior of ordinary partisans, we shall 
find them far from resembling this disinterested animal, and 25 
rather acting after the example of the wild Tartars, who are am- 
bitious of destroying a man of the most extraordinary parts and 
accomplishments, as thinking that upon his decease the same 
talents, whatever post they qualified him for, enter of course into 
his destroyer. 30 

As in the whole train of my speculations I have endeavored, 
as much as I am able, to extinguish that pernicious spirit of 
passion and prejudice which rages with the same violence in all 
parties, I am still the more desirous of doing some good in this 
particular because I observe that the spirit of party reigns more 35 
in the country than in the town. It here contracts a kind of 
brutality and rustic fierceness to which men of a politer conver- 
sation are wholly strangers. It extends itself even to the return 



86 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

of the bow and the hat; and at the same time that the heads of 
parties preserve toward one another an outward show of good 
breeding, and keep up a perpetual intercourse of civilities, their 
tools that are dispersed in these outlying parts will not so much 
5 as mingle together at a cock-match. This humor fills the coun- 
try with several periodical meetings of Whig jockeys and Tory 
fox-hunters, not to mention the innumerable curses, frowns, and 
whispers it produces at a quarter-sessions. 
I do not know whether I have observed, in any of my former 

10 papers, that my friends Sir Roger de Coverley and Sir Andrew 
Freeport are of different principles; the first of them inclined 
to the landed and the other to the moneyed interest. This humor 
is so moderate in each of them that it proceeds no farther than 
to an agreeable raillery, which very often diverts the rest of the 

15 club. I find, however, that the knight is a much stronger Tory 
in the country than in town, which, as he has told me in my 
ear, is absolutely necessary for the keeping up his interest. In 
all our journey from London to his house we did not so much as 
bait at a Whig inn ; or if by chance the coachman stopped at a 

20 wrong place, one of Sir Roger's servants would ride up to his 
master full speed, and whisper to him that the master of the 
house was against such an one in the last election. This often 
betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer; for we were not so 
inquisitive about the inn as the innkeeper, and, provided our 

25 landlord's principles were sound, did not take any notice of 
the staleness of his provisions. This I found still the more 
inconvenient because the better the host was, the worse generally 
were his accommodations, — the fellow knowing very well that 
those who were his friends would take up with coarse diet and an 

30 hard lodging. For these reasons, all the while I was upon the 
road I dreaded entering into an house of any one that Sir Roger 
had applauded for an honest man. 

Since my stay at Sir Roger's in the country, I daily find more 
instances of this narrow party-humor. Being upon a bowling- 

35 green at a neighboring market-town the other day (for that is the 
place where the gentlemen of one side meet once a week), I 
observed a stranger among them of a better presence and gen- 
teeler behavior than ordinary; but was much surprised that, not- 



GYPSIES 87 

withstanding he was a very fair better, nobody would take him 
up. But, upon inquiry, I found that he was one who had given 
a disagreeable vote in a former parliament, for which reason 
there was not a man upon that bowling-green who would have so 
much correspondence with him as to win his money of him. 5 

Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit one 
which concerns myself. Will Wimble was the other day relating 
several strange stories, that he had picked up nobody knows 
where, of a certain great man, and upon my staring at him, as 
one that was surprised to hear such things in the country which 10 
had never been so much as whispered in the town, Will stopped 
short in the thread of his discourse, and after dinner asked my 
friend Sir Roger in his ear if he was sure that I was not a fanatic. 

It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dissension 
in the country; not only as it destroys virtue and common sense, 15 
and renders us in a manner barbarians toward one another, 
but as it perpetuates our animosities, widens our breaches, and 
transmits our present passions and prejudices to our posterity. 
For my own part, I am sometimes afraid that I discover the 
seeds of a civil war in these our divisions, and therefore cannot 20 
but bewail, as in their first principles, the miseries and calamities 
of our children. C. 



XXIV 

GYPSIES 

[Spectator No. 130. Monday, July 30, 1711. Addison,] 

Semperque recentes 

Convectare juvat praedas, et vivere rapto. 

— Vergil. 

[" A plundering race, still eager to invade, 

On spoil they live, and make of theft a trade." 

As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my friend Sir 
Roger, we saw at a little distance from us a troop of gypsies. 
Upon the first discovery of them, my friend was in some doubt 25 
whether he should not exert the justice of the peace upon such a 
band of lawless vagrants; but not having his clerk with him, 



88 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

who is a necessary counsellor on these occasions, and fearing that 
his poultry might fare the worse for it, he let the thought drop; 
but at the same time gave me a particular account of the mis- 
chiefs they do in the country, in stealing people's goods and 
5 spoiling their servants. "If a stray piece of linen hangs upon 
an hedge," says Sir Roger, "they are sure to have it; if the 
hog loses his way in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes 
their prey; our geese cannot live in peace for them; if a man 
prosecutes them with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay for it. 

10 They generally straggle into these parts about this time of the 
year, and set the heads of our servant-maids so agog for hus- 
bands that we do not expect to have any business done as it 
should be whilst they are in the country. I have an honest 
dairy-maid who crosses their hands with a piece of silver every 

15 summer, and never fails being promised the handsomest young 
fellow in the parish for her pains. Your friend, the butler, has 
been fool enough to be seduced by them; and, though he is sure 
to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon every time his fortune is told 
him, generally shuts himself up in the pantry with an old gypsy 

20 for above half an hour once in a twelvemonth. Sweethearts are 
the things they live upon, which they bestow very plentifully upon 
all those that apply themselves to them. You see, now and then, 
some handsome young jades among them; the sluts have very 
often white teeth and black eyes." 

25 Sir Roger, observing that I listened with great attention to 
his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, told me 
that if I would they should tell us our fortunes. As I was very 
well pleased with the knight's proposal, we rid up and commu- 
nicated our hands to them. A Cassandra of the crew, after 

30 having examined my lines very diligently, told me that I loved a 
pretty maid in a corner; that I was a good woman's man; with 
some other particulars which I do not think proper to relate. My 
friend Sir Roger alighted from his horse, and exposing his palm to 
two or three that stood by him, they crumpled it into all shapes, 

35 and diligently scanned every wrinkle that could be made in it; 
when one of them, who was older and more sunburnt than the 
rest, told him that he had a widow in his line of life; upon 
which the knight cried, "Go, go, you are an idle baggage"; and 



GYPSIES 89 

at the same time smiled upon me. The gypsy, finding he was 
not displeased in his heart, told him, after a farther inquiry 
into his hand, that his true love was constant, and that she 
should dream of him to-night; my old friend cried "Pish!" and 
bid her go on. The gypsy told him that he was a bachelor, but 5 
would not be so long; and that he was dearer to somebody than 
he thought. The knight still repeated she was an idle bag- 
gage, and bid her go on. "Ah, master," says the gypsy, "that 
roguish leer of yours makes a pretty woman's heart ache; you 
ha'n't that simper about the mouth for nothing — ." The un- 10 
couth gibberish with which all this was uttered, like the dark- 
ness of an oracle, made us the more attentive to it. To be 
sure, the knight left the money with her that he had crossed 
her hand with, and got up again on his horse. 

As we were riding away. Sir Roger told me that he knew 15 
several sensible people who believed these gypsies now and then 
foretold very strange things; and for half an hour together ap- 
peared more jocund than ordinary. In the height of his good 
humor, meeting a common beggar upon the road who was no 
conjurer, as he went to relieve him he found his pocket was 20 
picked, — that being a kind of palmistry at which this race of 
vermin are very dexterous. 

I might here entertain my reader with historical remarks on 
this idle, profligate poeple, who infest all the countries of Europe, 
and live in the midst of governments in a kind of common- 25 
wealth by themselves. But instead of entering into observations 
of this nature, I shall fill the remaining part of my paper with 
a story which is still fresh in Holland, and was printed in one 
of our monthly accounts about twenty years ago: — 

"As the trekschuyt, or hackney boat, which carries passen- 30 
gers from Ley den to Amsterdam, was putting off, a boy run- 
ning along the side of the canal desired to be taken in; which 
the master of the boat refused, because the lad had not quite 
money enough to pay the usual fare. An eminent merchant 
being pleased with the looks of the boy, and secretly touched 35 
with compassion towards him, paid the money for him, and 
ordered him to be taken on board. 



90 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

"Upon talking with him afterward, he found that he could 
speak readily in three or four languages, and learned upon far- 
ther examination that he had been stolen away when he was a 
child, by a gypsy, and had rambled ever since with a gang of 
5 those strollers up and down several parts of Europe. It hap- 
pened that the merchant, whose heart seems to have inclined 
toward the boy by a secret kind of instinct, had himself lost a 
child some years before. The parents, after a long search for 
him, gave him for drowned in one of the canals with which that 

10 country abounds; and the mother was so aflBicted at the loss of 

a fine boy, who was her only son, that she died for grief of it. 

"Upon laying together all particulars, and examining the 

several moles and marks by which the mother used to describe 

the child when he was first missing, the boy proved to be the 

15 son of the merchant whose heart had so unaccountably melted 
at the sight of him. The lad was very well pleased to find a 
father who was so rich, and likely to leave him a good estate: 
the father, on the other hand, was not a little delighted to see a 
son return to him, whom he had given up for lost, with such a 

20 strength of constitution, sharpness of understanding, and skill 
in languages." 

Here the printed story leaves off; but if I may give credit to 
reports, our linguist having received such extraordinary rudi- 
ments towards a good education, was afterward trained up in 

25 everything that becomes a gentleman; wearing off by little and 
little all the vicious habits and practices that he had been used 
to in the course of his peregrinations. Nay, it is said that he has 
since been employed in foreign courts upon national business, 
with great reputation to himself and honor to those who sent 

30 him, and that he has visited several countries as a public 
minister in which he formerly wandered as a gypsy. 

C. 



REASONS FOR LEAVING THE COUNTRY 91 

XXV 

REASONS FOR LEAVING THE COUNTRY 

[Spectator No. 131. Tuesday, July 31, 1711. Addison.l 

Ipsae rursura concedite sylvae. 

— Vergil. 
["Once more, ye woods, adieu."] 

It is usual for a man who loves country sports to preserve the 
game in his own grounds, and divert himself upon those that 
belong to his neighbor. My friend Sir Roger generally goes 
two or three miles from his house, and gets into the frontiers of 
his estate, before he beats about in search of a hare or partridge, 5 
on purpose to spare his 0"vmi fields, where he is always sure of 
finding diversion when the worst comes to the worst. By this 
means the breed about his house has time to increase and mul- 
tiply; besides that the sport is the more agreeable where the 
game is the harder to come at, and where it does not lie so thick lO 
as to produce any perplexity or confusion in the pursuit. For 
these reasons the country gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys 
near his own home. 

In the same manner I have made a month's excursion out of 
the town, which is the great field of game for sportsmen of my 15 
species, to try my fortune in the country, where I have started 
several subjects and hunted them down, with some pleasure to 
myself, and I hope to others. I am here forced to use a great 
deal of diligence before I can spring anything to my mind; 
whereas in town, whilst I am following one character, it is ten to 20 
one but I am crossed in my way by another, and put up such a 
variety of odd creatures in both sexes that they foil the scent of 
one another, and puzzle the chase. My greatest difficulty in the 
country is to find sport, and, in town, to choose it. In the 
meantime, as I have given a whole month's rest to the cities of 25 
London and Westminster, I promise myself abundance of new 
game upon my return thither. 

It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, since I find 
the whole neighborhood begin to grow very inqusitive after my 



92 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

name and character; my love of solitude, taciturnity, and par- 
ticular way of life, having raised a great curiosity in all these 

parts. 
The notions which have been framed of me are various: some 

5 look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, and some as 
very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my friend the butler tells me, 
observing me very much alone, and extremely silent when I am 
in company, is afraid I have killed a man. The country people 
seem to suspect me for a conjurer; and, some of them hearmg 

10 of the visit which I made to Moll White, will needs have it that 
Sir Roger has brought down a cunning man with him, to cure 
the old woman, and free the country from her charms. So that 
the character which I go under in part of the neighborhood, is 
what they here call a "White Witch." 

15 A justice of peace, who lives about five miles off, and is not 
of Sir Roger's party, has, it seems, said twice or thrice at his 
table that he wishes Sir Roger does not harbor a Jesuit in his 
house, and that he thinks the gentlemen of the country would 
do very well to make me give some account of myself. 

20 On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are afraid the 
old knight is imposed upon by a designing fellow, and as they 
have heard that he converses very promiscuously, when he is in 
town, do not know but he has brought down with him some dis- 
carded Whig, that is sullen and says nothmg because he is out 

25 of place. ' J e 

Such is the variety of opinions which are here entertained ot 

me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected person, and 

among others for a popish priest; among some for a wizard, and 

among others for a murderer: and all this for no other reason 

30 that I can imagine, but because I do not hoot and hollow and 
make a noise. It is true my friend Sir Roger tells them, that it is 
my way, and that I am only a philosopher; but this will not 
satisfy them. They think there is more in me than he discovers, 
and that I do not hold my tongue for nothing. 

35 For these and other reasons I shall set out for London to- 
morrow, having found by experience that the country is not a 
place for a person of my temper, who does not love jollity, and 
what they call good neighborhood. A man that is out of hu^ 



I 



REASONS FOR LEAVING THE COUNTRY 93 

mor when an unexpected guest breaks in upon him, and does 
not care for sacrificing an afternoon to every chance-comer; 
that will be the master of his own time, and the pursuer of 
his own inclinations, makes but a very unsociable figure in 
this kind of life. I shall therefore retire into the town, if I 5 
may make use of that phrase, and get into the crowd again as 
fast as I can, in order to be alone. I can there raise what 
speculations I please upon others, without being observed my- 
self, and at the same time enjoy all the advantages of company 
with all the privileges of solitude. In the meanwhile, to finish 10 
the month, and conclude these my rural speculations, I shall 
here insert a letter from my friend Will Honeycomb, who has 
not lived a month for these forty years out of the smoke of 
London, and rallies me after his way upon my country life. 

"Dear Spec, — 15 

I suppose this letter will find thee picking of daisies, or 
smelling to a lock of hay, or passing away thy time in some 
innocent country diversion of the like nature. I have, 
however, orders from the club to summon thee up to town, 
being all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not be able to relish our 20 
company after thy conversations with INioll White and Will 
Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send us up any more stories of a cock 
and a bull, nor frighten the town with spirits and witches. Thy 
speculations begin to smell confoundedly of woods and meadows. 
If thou dost not come up quickly, we shall conclude that thou art 25 
in love with one of Sir Roger's dairy-maids. Service to the 
knight. Sir Andrew is grown the cock of the club since he left 
us, and if he does not return quickly will make every mother's 
son of us commonwealth's men. 

"Dear Spec, thine eternally, 30 

C. "Will Honeycomb." 



94 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

XXVI 

THE spectator's RETURN TO LONDON 

[Spectator No. 132. Wednesday, Aug. 1, 1711. Steele.] 

Qui aut tempus quid postulet non videt, aut plura loquitur, aut se 
ostentat, aut eorum quibuscum est rationem non habet, is ineptus esse 
dicitur. — Tully. 

["That man may be called impertinent, who considers not the cir- 
cumstances of time, or engrosses the conversation, or makes himself the 
subject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the company he is in."] 

Having notified to my good friend Sir Roger that I should set 
out for London the next day, his horses were ready at the 
appointed hour in the evening; and attended by one of his 
grooms, I arrived at the county-town at twihght, in order to be 
5 ready for the stage-coach the day following. As soon as we 
arrived at the inn, the servant who waited upon me, inquired of 
the chamberlain, in my hearing, what company he had for the 
coach. The fellow answered, "Mrs. Betty Arable, the great 
fortune, and the widow, her mother; a recruiting ofiicer (who 
10 took a place because they were to go) ; young Squire Quickset, 
her cousin (that her mother wished her to be married to); 
Ephraim, the Quaker, her guardian; and a gentleman that 
had studied himself dumb from Sir Roger de Coverley's." I 
observed, by what he said of myself, that according to his 
15 oflBce, he dealt much in intelligence; and doubted not but there 
was some foundation for his reports of the rest of the company 
as well as for the whimsical account he gave of me. 

The next morning at daybreak we were all called; and I, 
who know my own natural shyness, and endeavor to be as lit- 
20 tie liable to be disputed with as possible, dressed immediately, 
that I might make no one wait. The first preparation for our 
setting out was, that the captain's half-pike was placed near 
the coachman, and a drum behind the coach. In the meantime 
the drummer, the captain's equipage, was very loud that none of 
25 the captain's things should be placed so as to be spoiled; upon 
which his cloak bag was fixed in the seat of the coach; and the 



THE SPECTATOR'S RETURN TO LONDON 95 

captain himself, according to a frequent though invidious be- 
havior of military men, ordered his man to look sharp that none 
but one of the ladies should have the place he had taken fronting 
to the coach-box. 

We were in some little time fixed in our seats, and sat with 5 
that dislike which people not too good-natured usually con- 
ceive of each other at first sight. The coach jumbled us insen- 
sibly into some sort of familiarity, and we had not moved above 
two miles when the widow asked the captain what success he 
had in his recruiting. The officer, with a frankness he believed lO 
very graceful, told her that indeed he had but very little luck 
and had suffered much by desertion, therefore should be glad to 
end his warfare in the service of her or her fair daughter. " In 
a word," continued he, " I am a soldier, and to be plain is my 
character; you see me, madam, young, sound, and impudent; 15 
take me yourself, widow, or give me to her; I will be wholly at 
your disposal. I am a soldier of fortune, ha!" This was fol- 
lowed by a vain laugh of his own, and a deep silence of all the 
rest of the company. I had nothing left for it but to fall fast 
asleep, which I did with all speed. "Come," said he, "resolve 20 
upon it, we will make a wedding at the next town ; we will wake 
this pleasant companion who has fallen asleep, to be the bride- 
man, and," givmg the Quaker a clap on the knee, he concluded, 
"this sly saint, who, I'll warrant, understands what's what as 
well as you or I, widow, shall give the bride as father." 25 

The Quaker, who happened to be a man of smartness, an- 
swered, "Friend, I take it in good part, that thou hast given 
me the authority of a father over this comely and virtuous child; 
and I must assure thee that, if I have the giving her, I shall not 
bestow her on thee. Thy mirth, friend, savoreth of folly ; thou 30 
art a person of a light mind; thy drum is a type of thee — it 
soundeth because it is empty. Verily, it is not from thy ful- 
ness but thy emptiness that thou hast spoken this day. Friend, 
friend, we have hired this coach in partnership with thee, to 
carry us to a great city; we cannot go any other way. This 35 
worthy mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs utter thy 
follies; we cannot help it, friend, I say — if thou wilt, we must 
hear thee; but, if thou wert a man of understanding, thou 



96 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

wouldst not take advantage of thy courageous countenance to 
abash us children of peace. Thou art, thou sayest, a soldier; 
give quarter to us, who cannot resist thee. Why didst thou 
fleer at our friend, who feigned himself asleep ? He said noth- 
5 ing, but how dost thou know what he containeth? If thou 
speakest improper things in the hearing of this virtuous young 
virgin, consider it is an outrage against a distressed person that 
cannot get from thee: to speak indiscreetly what we are obliged 
to hear, by being hasped up with thee in this public vehicle, is 

10 in some degree assaulting on the high road." 

Here Ephraim paused, and the captain, with an happy and 
uncommon impudence, which can be convicted and support 
itself at the same time, cries, "Faith, friend, I thank thee; I 
should have been a little impertinent if thou hadst not repri- 

15 manded me. Come, thou art, I see, a smoky old fellow, and I'll 
be very orderly the ensuing part of the journey. I was going to 
give myself airs, but, ladies, I beg pardon," 

The captain was so little out of humor, and our company was 
so far from being soured by this little ruffle, that Ephraim and 

20 he took a particular delight in being agreeable to each other for 
the future, and assumed their different provinces in the conduct 
of the company. Our reckonings, apartments, and accommo- 
dation fell under Ephraim; and the captain looked to all dis- 
putes on the road, as the good behavior of our coachman, and 

25 the right we had of taking place, as going to London, of all 
vehicles coming from thence. 

The occurrences we met with were ordinary, and very little 
happened which could entertain by the relation of them; but 
when I considered the company we were in, I took it for no 

30 small good fortune that the whole journey was not spent in 
impertinences, which to one part of us might be an entertain- 
ment, to the other a suffering. 

What, therefore, Ephraim said when we were almost arrived 
at London, had to me an air not only of good understanding but 

35 good breeding. Upon the young lady's expressing her satis- 
faction in the journey, and declaring how delightful it had been 
to her, Ephraim declared himself as follows: "There is no 
ordinary part of human life which expresseth so much a good 



SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW DEBATE 97 

mind, and a right inward man, as his behavior upon meeting 
with strangers, especially such as may seem the most unsuitable 
companions to him; such a man, when he falleth in the way 
with persons of simplicity and innocence, however knowing he 
may be in the ways of men, will not vaunt himself thereof; but 5 
will the rather hide his superiority to them, that he may not be 
painful unto them. My good friend," continued he, turning to 
the officer, "thee and I are to part by and by, and peradventure 
we may never meet again; but be advised by a plain man: modes 
and apparel are but trifles to the real man, therefore do not think 10 
such a man as thyself terrible for thy garb, nor such a one as 
me contemptible for mine. When two such as thee and I meet, 
with affections as we ought to have toward each other, thou 
shouldst rejoice to see my peaceable demeanor, and I should be 
glad to see thy strength and ability to protect me in it." 15 

T. 

XXVII 

A DEBATE BETWEEN SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW 

[Spectator No. 174. Wednesday, Sept. 19, 1711. Steele.] 

Haec memini et victum frustra contendere Thyrsin. 

— Vergil. 

["The whole debate in memory I retain, 
When Thyrsis argued warmly, but in vain."] 

There is scarce anything more common than animosities be- 
tween parties that cannot subsist but by their agreement: this 
was well represented in the sedition of the members of the 
human body in the old Roman fable. It is often the case of 
lesser confederate states against a superior power, which are 20 
hardly held together, though their unanimity is necessary for 
their common safety. And this is always the case of the landed 
and trading interest of Great Britain: the trader is fed by the 
product of the land, and the landed man cannot be clothed but 
by the skill of the trader; and yet those interests are ever jarring. 25 

We had last winter an instance of this at our club, in Sir 
Roger de Coverley and Sir Andrew Freeport, between whom 



98 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

there is generally a constant, though friendly, opposition of 
opinions. It happened that one of the company, in an historical 
discourse, was observing that Carthaginian faith was a prover- 
bial phrase to intimate breach of leagues. Sir Roger said it could 
5 hardly be otherwise; that "the Carthaginians were the greatest 
traders in the world, and as gain is the chief end of such a peo- 
ple, they never pursue any other, — the means to it are never 
regarded. They will, if it comes easily, get money honestly ; but 
if not, they will not scruple to obtain it by fraud or cozenage. 
10 And, indeed, what is the whole business of the trader's account, 
but to overreach him who trusts to his memory? But were 
that not so, what can there great and noble be expected froi^ 
him whose attention is forever fixed upon balancing his books, 
and watching over his expenses ? And at best, let frugality and 
15 parsimony be the virtues of the merchant, how much is his 
punctual dealing below a gentleman's charity to the poor, or 
hospitality among his neighbors?" 

Captain Sentry observed Sir Andrew very diligent in hearing 
Sir Roger, and had a mind to turn the discourse by taking 
20 notice "in general, from the highest to the lowest parts of 
human society, there was a secret, though unjust, way among 
men of indulging the seeds of ill-nature and envy, by comparing 
their own state of life to that of another, and grudging the 
approach of their neighbor to their own happiness. And on 
25 the other side, he who is the less at his ease, repines at the 
other who, he thinks, has unjustly the advantage over him. 
Thus the civil and military lists look upon each other with 
much ill-nature: the soldier repines at the courtier's power, and 
the courtier rallies the soldier's honor; or, to come to lower 
30 instances, the private men in the horse and foot of an army, the 
carmen and coachmen in the city streets, mutually look upon 
each other with ill-will, when they are in competition for 
quarters or the way, in their respective motions." 

"It is very well, good captain," interrupted Sir Andrew. 
35 "You may attempt to turn the discourse if you think fit; but I 
must, however, have a word or two with Sir Roger, who, I see, 
thinks he has paid me off, and been very severe upon the mer- 
chant. I shall not," continued he, "at this time remind Sir 



SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW DEBATE 99 

Roger of the great and noble monuments of charity and public 
spirit which have been erected by merchants since the Reforma- 
tion, but at present content myself with what he allows us — 
parsimony and frugality. If it were consistent with the quality 
of so ancient a baronet as Sir Roger to keep an account, or 5 
measure things by the most infallible way, that of numbers, he 
would prefer our parsimony to his hospitality. If to drink so 
many hogsheads is to be hospitable, we do not contend for the 
fame of that virtue; but it would be worth while to consider 
whether so many artificers at work ten days together by my lO 
appointment, or so many peasants made merry on Sir Roger's 
charge, are the men more obliged ? I believe the families of the 
artificers will thank me more than the households of the peasants 
shall Sir Roger. Sir Roger gives to his men, but I place mine 
above the necessity or obligation of my bounty. I am in very 15 
little pain for the Roman proverb upon the Carthaginian traders; 
the Romans were their professed enemies. I am only sorry no 
Carthaginian histories have come to our hands; we might have 
been taught, perhaps, by them some proverbs against the Roman 
generosity, in fighting for and bestowing other people's goods. 20 
But since Sir Roger has taken occasion from an old proverb to 
be out of humor with merchants, it should be no offence to offer 
one not quite so old in their defence. When a man happens to 
break in Holland, they say of him that *he has not kept true 
accounts.' This phrase, perhaps, among us would appear a soft 25 
or humorous way of speaking; but with that exact nation it bears 
the highest reproach. For a man to be mistaken in the calcula- 
tion of his expense, in his ability to answer future demands, or 
to be impertinently sanguine in putting his credit to too great 
adventure, are all instances of as much infamy as, with gayer 30 
nations, to be failing in courage or common honesty. 

"Numbers are so much the measure of everything that is 
valuable, that it is not possible to demonstrate the success of 
any action or the prudence of any undertaking, without them. 
I say this in answer to what Sir Roger is pleased to say, that 35 
* little that is truly noble can be expected from one who is ever 
poring on his cash-book or balancing his accounts.' When I have 
my returns from abroad, I can tell to a shilling, by the help of 



100 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

numbers, the profit or loss by my adventure; but I ought also 
to be able to show that I had reason for making it, either from 
my own experience or that of other people, or from a reasonable 
presumption that my returns will be sufficient to answer my ex- 
5 pense and hazard — and this is never to be done without the skill 
of numbers. For instance, if I am to trade to Turkey, I ought 
beforehand to know the demand of our manufactures there, as 
well as of their silks in England, and the customary prices that 
are given for both in each country. I ought to have a clear 

10 knowledge of these matters beforehand, that I may presume 
upon sufficient returns to answer the charge of the cargo I have 
fitted out, the freight and assurance out and home, the custom 
to the Queen, and the interest of my own money, and besides all 
these expenses, a reasonable profit to myself. Now what is there 

15 of scandal in this skill? What has the merchant done that he 
should be so little in the good graces of Sir Roger ? He throws 
down no man's enclosure, and tramples upon no man's corn; 
he takes nothing from the industrious laborer; he pays the poor 
man for his work; he communicates his profit with mankind; 

20 by the preparation of his cargo, and the manufacture of his 
returns, he furnishes employment and subsistence to greater 
numbers than the richest nobleman; and even the nobleman is 
obliged to him for finding out foreign markets for the produce 
of his estate, and for making a great addition to his rents; and 

25 yet it is certain that none of all these things could be done by 
him without the exercise of his skill in numbers. 

"This is the economy of the merchant; and the conduct of 
the gentleman must be the same, unless by scorning to be the 
steward, he resolves the steward shall be the gentleman. The 

30 gentleman, no more than the merchant, is able, without the help 
of numbers, to account for the success of any action, or the 
prudence of any adventure. If, for instance, the chase is his 
whole adventure, his only returns must be the stag's horns in the 
great hall and the fox's nose upon the stable door. Without 

35 doubt Sir Roger knows the full value of these returns; and if 
beforehand he had computed the charges of the chase, a gentle- 
man of his discretion would certainly have hanged up all his 
dogs; he would never have brought back so many fine horses 



SIR ROGER IN LONDON 101 

to the kennel; he would never have gone so often, like a blast, 
over fields of corn. If such, too, had been the conduct of all 
his ancestors, he might truly have boasted, at this day, that 
the antiquity of his family had never been sullied by a trade; 
a merchant had never been permitted with his whole estate to 5 
purchase a room for his picture in the gallery of the Coverleys, 
or to claim his descent from the maid of honor. But 'tis very 
happy for Sir Roger that the merchant paid so dear for his 
ambition. 'Tis the misfortune of many other gentlemen to turn 
out of the seats of their ancestors to make way for such new lO 
masters as have been more exact in their accounts than them- 
selves; and certainly he deserves the estate a great deal better 
who has got it by his industry, than he who has lost it by his 
negligence." T. 



XXVIII 

SIR ROGER IN LONDON 

[Spectator No. 269. Tuesday, January 8, 17iL Addison.l 

.■Evo rarissima nostro 

Simplicitas . 

— Ovid. 

["Most rare is now our old simplicity." — Dryden.] 

I WAS this morning surprised with a great knocking at the door, 15 
when my landlady's daughter came up to me and told me that 
there was a man below desired to speak with me. Upon my 
asking her who it was, she told me it was a very grave, elderly 
person, but that she did not know his name. I immediately 
went down to him, and found him to be the coachman of my 20 
worthy friend, Sir Roger de Coverley. He told me that his 
master came to town last night, and would be glad to take a 
turn with me in Gray's Inn Walks. As I was wondering in 
myself what had brought Sir Roger to town, not having lately 
received any letter from him, he told me that his master was 25 
come up to get a sight of Prince Eugene, and that he desired I 
would immediately meet him. 



102 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old knight, 

though I did not much wonder at it, having heard him say more 

than once in private discourse that he looked upon Prince 

Eugenio (for so the knight always calls him) to be a greater man 

5 than Scanderbeg. 

I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn Walks, but I heard my 
friend upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice to himself 
with great vigor, for he loves to clear his pipes in good air (to 
make use of his own phrase), and is not a little pleased with any 

10 one who takes notice of the strength which he still exerts in his 
morning hems. 

I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good old 
man, who before he saw me was engaged in conversation with a 
beggarman that had asked an alms of him. I could hear my 

15 friend chide him for not finding out some work; but at the same 

time saw him put his hand in his pocket and give him sixpence. 

Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consisting of 

many kind shakes of the hand, and several affectionate looks 

which we cast upon one another. After which the knight told 

20 me my good friend his chaplain was very well, and much at my 
service, and that the Sunday before he had made a most in- 
comparable sermon out of Doctor Barrow. "I have left," says 
he, "all my affairs in his hands, and being willing to lay an 
obligation upon him, have deposited with him thirty marks, to 

25 be distributed among his poor parishioners." 

He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of Will 
Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob and pre- 
sented me, in his name, with a tobacco-stopper, telling me that 
Will had been busy all the beginning of the winter in turning 

30 great quantities of them, and that he made a present of one to 
every gentleman in the country who has good principles and 
smokes. He added that poor Will was at present under great 
tribulation, for that Tom Touchy had taken the law of him for 
cutting s6me hazel sticks out of one of his hedges. 

35 Among other pieces of news which the knight brought from 
his country-seat, he informed me that Moll White was dead; and 
that about a month after her death the wind was so very high 
that it blew down the end of one of his barns. "But for my 



SIR ROGER IN LONDON 103 

own part," says Sir Roger, "I do not think that the old woman 
had any hand in it." 

He afterward fell into an account of the diversions which 
had passed in his house during the holidays; for Sir Roger, after 
the laudable custom of his ancestors, always keeps open house 5 
at Christmas. I learned from him that he had killed eight fat 
hogs for the season, that he had dealt about his chines very 
liberally amongst his neighbors, and that in particular he had 
sent a string of hog's-puddings with a pack of cards to every 
poor family in the parish. "I have often thought," says Sir 10 
Roger, " it happens very well that Christmas should fall out in 
the middle of the winter. It is the most dead, uncomfortable 
time of the year, when the poor people would suffer very much 
from their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm 
jfires, and Christmas gambols to support them. I love to re- 15 
joice their poor hearts at this season, and to see the whole 
village merry in my great hall. I allow a double quantity of 
malt to my small beer, and set it a running for twelve days 
to every one that calls for it. I have always a piece of cold 
beef and a mince-pie upon the table, and am wonderfully pleased 20 
to see my tenants pass away a whole evening in playing their 
innocent tricks, and smutting one another. Our friend Will 
Wimble is as merry as any of them, and shows a thousand 
roguish tricks upon these occasions." 

I was very much delighted with the reflection of my old friend, 25 
which carried so much goodness in it. He then launched out 
into the praise of the late Act of Parliament for securing the 
Church of England, and told me, with great satisfaction, that 
he believed it already began to take effect, for that a rigid Dis- 
senter, who chanced to dine at his house on Christmas Day, had 30 
been observed to eat very plentifully of his plum-porridge. 

After having dispatched all our country matters. Sir Roger 
made several inquiries concerning the club, and particularly of 
his old antagonist, Sir Andrew Freeport. He asked me with a 
kind of smile whether Sir Andrew had not taken advantage of 35 
his absence to vent among them some of his republican doctrines; 
but soon after, gathering up his countenance into a more than 
ordinary seriousness, "Tell me truly," says he, "don't you think 



104 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

Sir Andrew had a hand in the Pope's Procession ? " — but without 
giving me time to answer him, "Well, well," says he, "I know 
you are a wary man, and do not care to talk of public matters." 
The knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eugenio, and 
5 made me promise to get him a stand in some convenient place, 
where he might have a full sight of that extraordinary man, whose 
presence does so much honor to the British nation. 

He dwelt very long on the praises of this great general, and I 
found that, since I was with him in the country, he had drawn 

10 many observations together out of his reading in Baker's 
Chronicle, and other authors who always lie in his hall win- 
dow, which very much redound to the honor of this prince. 

Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in 
hearing the knight's reflections, which were partly private and 

15 partly political, he asked me if I would smoke a pipe with 
him over a dish of coffee at Squire's. As I love the old man, 
I take delight in complying with everything that is agreeable to 
him, and accordingly waited on him to the coffee-house, where 
his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of the whole room. 

20 He had no sooner seated himself at the upper end of the high 
table, but he called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish 
of coffee, a wax candle, and The Supplement, with such an air of 
cheerfulness and good humor that all the boys in the coffee- 
room, who seemed to take pleasure in serving him, were at once 

25 employed on his several errands, insomuch that nobody else 
could come at a dish of tea till the knight had got all his con- 
veniences about him. L. 



SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 105 
XXIX 

SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

[Spectator No. 329, Tuesday, March 18, 171 J. Addison.] 

Ire tamen restat, Numa quo devenit et Ancus. 

—Horace. 
["With Ancus, and with Numa, kings of Rome, 
We must descend into the silent tomb."] 

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley told me t'other night that 
he had been reading my paper upon Westminster Abbey, in 
which, says he, there are a great many ingenious fancies. He 
told me, at the same time, that he observed I had promised 
another paper upon the tombs, and that he should be glad to 5 
go and see them with me, not having visited them since he had 
read history. I could not at first imagine how this came into the 
knight's head, till I recollected that he had been very busy all 
last summer upon Baker's Chronicle, which he has quoted 
several times in his disputes with Sir Andrew Freeport, since his 10 
last coming to town. Accordingly, I promised to call upon him 
the next morning, that we might go together to the Abbey. 

I found the knight under his butler's hands, who always shaves 
him. He was no sooner dressed than he called for a glass of 
the Widow Trueby's water, which he told me he always drank 15 
before he went abroad. He recommended me to a dram of it 
at the same time with so much heartiness that I could not 
forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got it down, I found it 
very unpalatable; upon which the knight, observing that I had 
made several wry faces, told me that he knew I should not like 20 
it at first, but that it was the best thing in the world against the 
stone or gravel. 

I could have wished, indeed, that he had acquainted me with 
the virtues of it sooner; but it was too late to complain, and I 
knew what he had done was out of good-will. Sir Roger told 25 
me, further, that he looked upon it to be very good for a man, 
whilst he stayed in town, to keep off infection; and that he got 
together a quantity of it upon the first news of the sickness being 



106 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

at Dantzic. When, of a sudden, turning short to one of his ser- 
vants, who stood behind him, he bid him call a hackney-coach, 
and take care it was an elderly man that drove it. 

He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Trueby's water, 
5 telHng me that the Widow Trueby was one who did more good 
than all the doctors and apothecaries in the country; that she 
distilled every poppy that grew within five miles of her; that she 
distributed her water gratis among all sorts of people: to which 
the knight added that she had a very great jointure, and that the 

10 whole country would fain have it a match between him and her; 
"And truly," said Sir Roger, "if I had not been engaged, per- 
haps I could not/ have done better." 

His discourse was broken off by his man's telling him he had 
called a coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast his eye 

15 upon the wheels, he asked the coachman if his axle-tree was 
good; upon the fellow's telling him he would warrant it, the 
knight turned to me, told me he looked like an honest man, and 
went in without further ceremony. 

We had not gone far when Sir Roger, popping out his head, 

20 called the coachman down from his box and, upon his present- 
ing himself at the window, asked him if he smoked; as I was 
considering what this would end in, he bid him stop by the way 
at any good tobacconist's, and take in a roll of their best Virginia. 
Nothing material happened in the remaining part of our journey 

25 till we were set down at the west end of the Abbey. 

As we went up the body of the church, the knight pointed at 
the trophies upon one of the new monuments, and cried out, 
"A brave man, I warrant him!" Passing afterward by Sir 
Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand that way, and cried, "Sir 

30 Cloudesley Shovel! a very gallant man!" As we stood before 
Busby's tomb, the knight uttered himself again after the same 
manner: — "Dr. Busby — a great man! he whipped my grand- 
father — a very great man! I should have gone to him myself 
if I had not been a blockhead — a very great man!" 

35 We were immediately conducted into the little chapel on the 
right hand. Sir Roger, planting himself at our historian's elbow, 
was very attentive to everything he said, particularly to the ac- 
count he gave us of the lord who had cut off the King of Mo- 



SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 107 

rocco's head. Among several other figures, he was very well 
pleased to see the statesman Cecil upon his knees; and, con- 
cluding them all to be great men, was conducted to the figure 
which represents that martyr to good housewifery who died by 
the prick of a needle. Upon our interpreter's telling us that she 5 
was a maid of honor to Queen Elizabeth, the knight was very 
inquisitive into her name and family, and, after having regarded 
her finger for some time, " I wonder," says he, " that Sir Richard 
Baker has said nothing of her in his Chronicle," 

We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, where lO 
my old friend, after having heard that the stone underneath the 
most ancient of them, which was brought from Scotland, was 
called Jacob's Pillar, sat himself down in the chair, and, looking 
like the figure of an old Gothic king, asked our interpreter what 
authority they had to say that Jacob had ever been in Scotland. 15 
The fellow, instead of returning him an answer, told him that he 
hoped his honor would pay his forfeit. I could observe Sir Roger 
a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned; but, our guide not 
insisting upon his demand, the knight soon recovered his good 
humor, and whispered in my ear that if Will Wimble were with 20 
us, and saw those two chairs, it would go hard but he would 
get a tobacco-stopper out of one or t'other of them. 

Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward the 
Third's sword, and, leaning upon the pommel of it, gave us the 
whole history of the Black Prince; concluding that, in Sir 25 
Richard Baker's opinion, Edward the Third was one of the 
greatest princes that ever sat upon the English throne. 

We were then shown Edward the Confessor's tomb, upon 
which Sir Roger acquainted us that he was the first who touched 
for the evil; and afterward Henry the Fourth's, upon which he 30 
shook his head and told us there was fine reading in the casual- 
ties in that reign. 

Our conductor then pointed to that monument where there 
is the figure of one of our English kings without an head; and 
upon giving us to know that the head, which was of beaten sil- 35 
ver, had been stolen away several years since, "Some Whig, I'll 
warrant you," says Sir Roger; "you ought to lock up your kings 
better; they will carry off the body too, if you don't take care." 



108 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen Elizabeth 

gave the knight great opportunities of shining and of doing 

justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our knight observed with 

some surprise, had a great many kings in him whose monuments 

5 he had not seen in the Abbey. 

For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see the knight 
show such an honest passion for the glory of his country and 
such a respectful gratitude to the memory of its princes. 
I must not omit that the benevolence of my good old friend, 
10 which flows out towards every one he converses with, made him 
very kind to our interpreter, whom he looked upon as an extraor- 
dinary man ; for which reason he shook him by the hand at part- 
ing, telling him that he should be very glad to see him at his 
lodgings in Norfolk Buildings, and talk over these matters with 
15 him more at leisure. L. 

XXX 

SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY 

[Spectator No. 335. Tuesday, March 25, 1712. Addison.] 

Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo 
Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces. 

— Horace. 

[" Keep Nature's great original in view, 
And thence the living images pursue." — Francis.] 

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met together at 
the club, told me that he had a great mind to see the new tragedy 
with me, assuring me, at the same time, that he had not been at 
a play these twenty years. "The last I saw," said Sir Roger, 

20 "was The Committee, which I should not have gone to, neither, 
had I not been told beforehand that it was a good Church of 
England comedy." He then proceeded to inquire of me who this 
Distressed Mother was, and, upon hearing that she was Hector's 
widow, he told me that her husband was a brave man, and that 

25 when he was a school-boy he had read his life at the end of the 
dictionary. My friend asked me, in the next place, if there would 
not be some danger in coming home late, in case the Mohocks 



SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY 109 

should be abroad. "I assure you," says he, "I thought I had 
fallen into their hands last night, for I observed two or three 
lusty black men that followed me half way up Fleet Street, and 
mended their pace behind me in proportion as I put on to get 
away from them. You must know," continued the knight, with a 5 
smile, "I fancied they had a mind to hunt me, for I remember 
an honest gentleman in my neighborhood who was served such a 
trick in King Charles the Second's time; for which reason he 
has not ventured himself in town ever since. I might have shown 
them very good sport had this been their design; for, as I am 10 
an old fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have 
played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their lives 
before." Sir Roger added that if these gentlemen had any such 
intention they did not succeed very well in it; "for I threw them 
out," says he, " at the end of Norfolk Street, where I doubled the 15 
corner and got shelter in my lodgings before they could imagine 
what had become of me. However," says the knight, "if Cap- 
tain Sentry will make one with us to-morrow night, and if you 
will both of you call upon me about four o'clock, that we may be 
at the house before it is full, I will have my own coach in readi- 20 
ness to attend you, for John tells me he has got the fore wheels 
mended." 

The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the ap- 
pointed hour, bid Sir Roger fear nothing, for that he had put on 
the same sword which he made use of at the battle of Steenkirk. 25 
Sir Roger's servants, and among the rest my old friend the but- 
ler, had, I found, provided themselves with good oaken plants to 
attend their master upon this occasion. When he had placed 
him in his coach, with myself at his left hand, the captain before 
him, and his butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we 30 
convoyed him in safety to the playhouse, where, after having 
marched up the entry in good order, the captain and I went in 
with him, and seated him betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the 
house was full, and the candles lighted, my old friend stood up 
and looked about him with that pleasure which a mind seasoned 35 
with humanity naturally feels in itself at the sight of a multi- 
tude of people who seem pleased with one another and partake 
of the same common entertainment. I could not but fancy to 



110 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

myself, as the old man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he 
made a very proper centre to a tragic audience. Upon the enter- 
ing of Pyrrhus, the knight told me that he did not believe the 
King of France himself had a better strut. I was, indeed, very 
5 attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I looked upon 
them as a piece of natural criticism; and was well pleased to 
hear him, at the conclusion of almost every scene, telling me that 
he could not imagine how the play would end. One while he 
appeared much concerned for Andromache, and a little while 

10 after as much for Hermione; and was extremely puzzled to think 
what would become of Pyrrhus. 

When Sir Roger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to her 
lover's importunities, he whispered me in the ear that he was 
sure she would never have him ; to which he added, with a more 

15 than ordinary vehemence, " You can't imagine, sir, what 'tis to 
have to do with a widow." Upon Pyrrhus his threatening after- 
ward to leave her, the knight shook his head, and muttered to 
himself, "Ay, do if you can." This part dwelt so much upon 
my friend's inmgination that at the close of the third act, as I 

20 was thinking of something else, he whispered in my ear, "These 
widows, sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world. But 
pray," says he, "you that are a critic, is this play according to 
your dramatic rules, as you call them ? Should your people in 
tragedy always talk to be understood ? Why, there is not a sin- 

25 gle sentence in this play that I do not know the meaning of." 

The fourth act very luckily begun before I had time to give 

the old gentleman an answer. "Well," says the knight, sitting 

down with great satisfaction, "I suppose we are now to see 

Hector's ghost." He then renewed his attention, and, from time 

30 to time, fell a-praising the widow. He made, indeed, a little mis- 
take as to one of her pages, whom at his first entering he took for 
Astyanax; but he quickly set himself right in that particular, 
though, at the same time, he owned he should have been very 
glad to have seen the little boy, "who," says he, "must needs be 

35 a very fine child by the account that is given of him." 

Upon Hermione's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus, the 
audience gave a loud clap, to which Sir Roger added, " On my 
word, a notable young baggage!" 



SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY 111 

As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness in the 
audience during the whole action, it was natural for them to 
take the opportunity of these intervals between the acts to ex- 
press their opinion of the players and of their respective parts. 
Sir Roger, hearing a cluster of them praise Orestes, struck in 5 
with them, and told them that he thought his friend Py lades 
was a very sensible man; as they were afterward applauding 
Pyrrhus, Sir Roger put in a second time: "And let me tell you," 
says he, "though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in 
whiskers as well as any of them." Captain Sentry, seeing two lO 
or three wags, who sat near us, lean with an attentive ear 
toward Sir Roger, and fearing lest they should smoke the knight, 
plucked him by the elbow, and whispered something in his ear 
that lasted till the opening of the fifth act. The knight was 
wonderfully attentive to the account which Orestes gives of 15 
Pyrrhus his death, and, at the conclusion of it, told me it was 
such a bloody piece of work that he was glad it was not done 
upon the stage. Seeing afterward Orestes in his raving fit, he 
grew more than ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralize 
(in his way) upon an evil conscience, adding that Orestes in 20 
his madness looked as if he saw something. 

As we were the first that came into the house, so we were 
the last that went out of it; being resolved to have a clear pass- 
age for our old friend, whom we did not care to venture among 
the justling of the crowd. Sir Roger went out fully satisfied with 25 
his entertainment, and we guarded him to his lodgings in the 
same manner that we brought him to the playhouse; being highly 
pleased, for my own part, not only with the performance of the 
excellent piece which had been presented but with the satis- 
faction which it had given to the old man. 30 

L. 



112 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



XXXI 

SIR ROGER AT SPRING GARDEN 

[Spectator No. 383. Tuesday, May 20, 1712. Addison.] 

Criminibus debent hortos . 

— Juvenal. 
["A beauteous garden, but by vice maintained."] 

. As I was sitting in my chamber and thinking on a subject for 
my next Spectator, 1 heard two or three irregular bounces at 
my landlady's door, and upon the opening of it, a loud, cheerful 
voice inquiring whether the philosopher was at home. The 
5 child who went to the door answered very innocently that he 
did not lodge there. I immediately recollected that it was my 
good friend Sir Roger's voice, and that I had promised to go 
with him on the water to Spring Garden, in case it proved a good 
evening. The knight put me in mind of my promise from 

10 the bottom of the staircase, but told me that if I was speculating 
he would stay below till I had done. Upon my coming down, 
I found all the children of the family got about my old friend, 
and my landlady herself, who is a notable prating gossip, en- 
gaged in a conference with him, being mightily pleased with his 

15 stroking her little boy upon the head, and bidding him be a 
good child and mind his book. 

We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs but we were 
surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us their re- 
spective services. Sir Roger, after having looked about him 

20 very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg, and immediately 
gave him orders to get his boat ready. As we were walking 
toward it, "You must know," says Sir Roger, " I never make use 
of anybody to row me that has not either lost a leg or an arm. I 
would rather bate him a few strokes of his oar than not employ 

25 an honest man that had been wounded in the Queen's service. 
If I was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a 
fellow in my livery that had not a wooden leg." 

My old friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed the 



SIR ROGER AT SPRING GARDEN 113 

boat with his coachman, who, being a very sober man, always 
serves for ballast on these occasons, we made the best of our way 
for Fox-hall, Sir Roger obliged the waterman to give us the 
history of his right leg, and, hearing that he had left it at La 
Hogue, with many particulars which passed in that glorious 5 
action, the knight in the ti iumph of his heart, made several reflec- 
tions on the greatness of the British nation; as, that one English- 
man could beat three Frenchmen; that we could never be in 
danger of popery so long as we took care of our fleet; that the 
Thames was the noblest river in Europe; that London Bridge 10 
was a greater piece of work than any of the seven wonders of 
the world; with many other honest prejudices which naturally 
cleave to the heart of a true Englishman. 

After some short pause, the old knight, turning about his 
head twice or thrice, to take a survey of this great metropolis, 15 
bid me observe how thick the city was set with churches, and 
that there was scarce a single steeple on this side Temple Bar. 
" A most heathenish sight! " says Sir Roger; " there is no religion 
at this end of the town. The fifty new churches will very much 
mend the prospect; but church work is slow, church work is 20 
slow!" 

I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned, in Sir Roger's 
character, his custom of saluting everybody that passes by him 
with a good-morrow or a good-night. This the old man does 
out of the overflowings of his humanity, though at the same time 25 
it renders him so popular among all his country neighbors that 
it is thought to have gone a good way in making him once or 
twice knight of the shire. 

He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even in town, 
when he meets with any one in his morning or evening walk. 30 
It broke from him to several boats that passed by us upon the 
water: but to the knight's great surprise, as he gave the good- 
night to two or three young fellows a little before our landing, 
one of them, instead of returning the civility, asked us what 
queer old put we had in the boat, with a great deal of the like 35 
Thames ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but 
at length, assuming a face of magistracy, told us that if he were 
a Middlesex justice he would make such vagrants know that 



114 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

her Majesty's subjects were no more to be abused by water than 
by land. 

We now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely 
pleasant at this time of year. When I considered the fragrancy 
5 of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon 
the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked under their 
shades, I could not but look upon the place as a kind of Mahome- 
tan paradise. Sir Roger told me it put him in mind of a little 
coppice by his house in the country, which his chaplain used to 

10 call an aviary of nightingales. "You must understand," says 
the knight, "there is nothing in the world that pleases a man 
in love so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator! the 
many moonlight nights that I have walked by myself and 
thought on the widow by the music of the nightingales!" He 

15 here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, 
when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle tap 
upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bottle of 
mead with her. But the knight, being startled at so unex- 
pected a familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his 

20 thoughts of the widow, told her she was a wanton baggage, and 
bid her go about her business. 

We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale and a 
slice of hung beef. When we had done eating, ourselves, the 
knight called a waiter to him and bid him carry the remainder 

25 to the waterman that had but one leg. I perceived the fellow 

stared upon him at the oddness of the message, and was going 

to be saucy, upon which I ratified the knight's commands with 

a peremptory look. 

As we were going out of the garden, my old friend thinking 

30 himself obliged, as a member of the quorum, to animadvert upon 
the morals of the place, told the mistress of the house, who sat 
at the bar, that he should be a better customer to her garden if 
there were more nightingales and fewer masks. 

I. 



DEATH OF SIR ROGER 115 

XXXII 

DEATH OF SIR ROGER 

[Spectator No. 517. Thursday, October 23, 1712. Addison.] 

Heu pietasi heu prisca fides ! . 

— Vergil. 
["Alas for the charity! alas for the old-time faith."] 

We last night received a piece of ill news at our club which 
very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my 
readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To 
keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. 
He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few 5 
weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of 
his correspondents in those parts, that informs him the old man 
caught a cold at the county-sessions, as he was very warmly pro- 
moting an address of his own penning, in which he succeeded 
according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a lO 
Whig justice of peace, who was always Sir Roger's enemy and 
antagonist. I have letters both from the chaplain and Cap- 
tain Sentry which mention nothing of it, but are filled with 
many particulars to the honor of the good old man. I have 
likewise a letter from the butler, who took so much care of me 15 
last summer when I was at the knight's house. As my friend 
the butler mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several cir- 
cumstances the others have passed over in silence, I shall give my 
reader a copy of his letter without any alteration or diminution. 

" Honoured Sir, 20 

" Knowing that you was my old Master's good Friend, I could 
not forbear sending you the melancholy News of his Death, 
which has afflicted the whole Country, as well as his poor Ser- 
vants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did our Lives. 
I am afraid he caught his Death the last County Sessions, where 25 
he would go to see Justice done to a poor Widow Woman and 
her Fatherless Children, that had been wronged by a neighbour- 
ing Gentleman; for you know, Sir, my good Master was always 



116 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

the poor Man's Friend. Upon his coming home, the jBrst Com- 
plaint he made was, that he had lost his Roast-Beef Stomach, 
not being able to touch a Sirloin, which was served up according 
to Custom; and you know he used to take great Delight in it. 
5 From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept 
a good Heart to the last. Indeed, we were once in great Hope 
of his Recovery, upon a kind Message that was sent him from 
the Widow Lady whom he had made love to the Forty last 
Years of his Life; but this only proved a Light'ning before Death. 

10 He has bequeathed to this Lady, as a token of his Love, a great 
Pearl Necklace, and a Couple of Silver Bracelets set with 
Jewels, which belonged to my good old Lady his Mother: He 
has bequeathed the fine white Gelding, that he used to ride a- 
hunting upon, to his Chaplain, because he thought he would 

15 be kind to him, and has left you all his Books. He has, 
moreover, bequeathed to the Chaplain a very pretty Tenement 
with good Lands about it. It being a very cold Day when he 
made his Will, he left for Mourning, to every Man in the 
Parish, a great Frize-Coat, and to every Woman a black Riding- 

20 hood. It was a most moving Sight to see him take leave of his 
poor Servants, commending us all for our Fidelity, whilst we were 
not able to speak a Word for weeping. As we most of us are 
grown Gray-headed in our Dear Master's Service, he has left us 
Pensions and Legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon, 

25 the remaining part of our Days. He has bequeathed a great 
deal more in Charity, which is not yet come to my Knowledge, 
and it is peremptorily said in the Parish, that he has left Mony 
to build a Steeple to the Church ; for he was heard to say some 
time ago, that if he lived two Years longer, Coverly Church should 

30 have a Steeple to it. The Chaplain tells everybody that he 
made a very good End, and never speaks of him without Tears. 
He was buried according to his own Directions, among the 
Family of the Coverly 's, on the Left Hand of his Father, Sir 
Arthur The Coffin was carried by Six of his Tenants, and the 

35 Pall held up by Six of the Quorum: The whole Parish follow'd 
the Corps with heavy Hearts, and in their Mourning Suits, the 
Men in Prize, and the Women in Riding-Hoods. Captain Sen- 
try, my Master's Nephew, has taken Possession of the Hall- 



DEATH OF SIR ROGER 117 

House, and the whole Estate. When my old Master saw him 
a little before his Death, he shook him by the Hand, and wished 
him Joy of the Estate which was falling to him, desiring him 
only to make good Use of it, and to pay the several Legacies, 
and the Gifts of Charity which he told him he had left as Quit- 5 
rents upon the Estate. The Captain truly seems a courteous 
Man, though he says but little. He makes much of those 
whom my Master loved, and shews great Kindness to the old 
House-dog, that you know my poor Master was so fond of. It 
would have gone to your Heart to have heard the Moans the 10 
dumb Creature made on the Day of my Master's Death. He 
has ne'er joyed himself since; no more has any of us. 'Twas 
the melancholiest Day for the poor People that ever happened 
in Worcestershire. This being all from, 

"Honoured Sir, 15 

" Your most Sorrowful Servant, 

"Edward Biscuit." 

"P. S. My Master desired, some Weeks before he died, that 
a Book which comes up to you by the Carrier should be given 
to Sir Andrew Freeport, in his Name." 20 

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of writ- 
ing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend that upon 
the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir 
Andrew, opening the book, found it to be a collection of Acts 
of Parliament. There was in particular the Act of Uniformity, 25 
with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir 
Andrew found that they related to two or three points which 
he had disputed with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the 
club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such an 
incident on another occasion, at the sight of the old man's 30 
handwriting burst into tears, and put the book into his pocket. 
Captain Sentry informs me that the knight has left rings and 
mourning for every one in the club. O. 



118 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

XXXIII 

REFLECTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

[Spectator No. 26. Friday, March 30, 1711, Addison.] 

Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas 
Reguraque turres. — Horace, I Odes, iv, 13. 

[" Death comes down with reckless footstep 
To the hall and hut."— A. C. Coxe.] 

When I am in a very serious humor, I very often walk by myself 
in Westminster Abbey, where the gloominess of the place, and 
the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, 
and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill 
5 the mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, 
that is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoon 
in the churchyard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing my- 
self with the tombstones and inscriptions which I met with in 
those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded noth- 

10 ing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one 
day, and died upon another: the whole history of his life being 
comprehended in those two circumstances, that are common to 
all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers of exist- 
ence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the 

15 departed persons; who had left no other memorial of them 
but that they were born and that they died. They put me in 
mind of several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic 
poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other rea- 
son but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing 

20 but being knocked on the head. The life of these men is finely 
described in Holy Writ by "the path of an arrow" which is im- 
mediately closed up and lost. 

Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the 
digging of a grave; and saw in every shovelful of it that was 

25 thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixed with a 
kind of fresh mouldering earth, that some time or other had a 
place in the composition of a human body. Upon this I began 
to consider with myself what innumerable multitudes of people 



REFLECTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 119 

lay confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathe- 
dral; how men and women, friends and enemies, priests and 
soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled amongst one 
another and blended together in the same common mass; how 
beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and de- 5 
formity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of 
matter. 

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, 
as it were, in the lump, I examined it more particularly by the 
accounts which I found on several of the monuments which are 10 
raised in every quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them 
were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that, if it were 
possible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he 
would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon 
him. There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver 15 
the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by 
that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth. In the 
poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monu- 
ments, and monuments which had no poets. I observed, in- 
deed, that the present war had filled the church with many of 20 
these uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the 
memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the 
plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. 

I could not but be very much delighted with several modem 
epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression 25 
and justness of thought, and therefore do honor to the living as 
well as to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an 
idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation, from the turn 
of their public monuments and inscriptions, they should be sub- 
mitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius before they 30 
are put in execution. Sir Cloudesley Shovel's monument has 
very often given me great offence; instead of the brave rough 
English admiral, which was the distinguishing character of that 
plain gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the figure 
of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and reposing himself upon 35 
velvet cushions under a canopy of state. The inscription is an- 
swerable to the monument; for instead of celebrating the many 
remarkable actions he had performed in the service of his coun- 



120 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

try, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which 
it was impossible for him to reap any honor. The Dutch, 
whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an infin- 
itely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings 
5 and works of this nature than what we meet with in those 
of our own country. The monuments of their admirals, which 
have been erected at the public expense, represent them like 
themselves, and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval 
ornaments, with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, and coral. 

10 But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of 
our English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I 
shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I 
know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and 
dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; 

15 but for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not 
know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view 
of nature in her deep and solemn scenes with the same pleasure 
as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means I can 
improve myself with those objects which others consider with 

20 terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emo- 
tion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beauti- 
ful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief 
of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; 
when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the 

25 vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when 
I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider 
rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the 
world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and 
astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of 

30 mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some 
that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider 
that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries and 
make our appearance together. C. 



THE ROYAL EXCHANGE 121 



XXXIV 

THE ROYAL EXCHANGE 

[Spectator N^o. 69. Saturday, May 19, 1711. Addison.] 

Hie segetes, illic veniunt felicius uvae: 
Arborei foetus alibi, atque injussa virescunt 
Gramina. Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolus odores, 
India mittit ebur, molles sua thura Sabaei ? 
At Chalybes nudi ferrura, virosaque Pontus 
Castorea, Eliadum palraas Epirus equarum? 
Centinuo has leges aeternaque faedera certis 
Imposuit Natura locis. — Vergil. 

["This ground with Bacchus, that with Ceres suits; 
That other loads the trees with happy fruits, 
A fourth with grass unbidden decks the ground: 
Thus Tmolus is with yellow saffron crowned; 
India black ebon and white ivory bears; 
And soft Idume weeps her odorous tears: 
Thus Pontus sends her beaver stones from far: 
And naked Spaniards temper steel for war: 
Epirus for th'Elean chariot breeds 
(In hopes of palms) a race of running steeds. 
This is th'original contract; these the laws 
Imposed by nature, and by nature's cause." — Dryden.] 

There is no place in the town which I so much love to frequent 
as the Royal Exchange. It gives me a secret satisfaction, and, 
in some measure, gratifies my vanity, as I am an Englishman, 
to see so rich an assembly of countrymen and foreigners con- 
sulting together upon the private business of mankind, and mak- 5 
ing this metropolis a kind of emporium for the whole earth. 
I must confess I look upon high-change to be a great council, 
in which all considerable nations have their representatives. Fac- 
tors in the trading world are what ambassadors are in the pol- 
itic world; they negotiate affairs, conclude treaties, and main- 10 
tain a good correspondence between those wealthy societies of 
men that are divided from one another by seas and oceans, or 
live on the different extremities of a continent. I have often 
been pleased to hear disputes adjusted between an inhabitant of 
Japan and an alderman of London, or to see a subject of the 15 
Great Mogul entering into a league with one of the Czar of 



122 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

Muscovy. I am infinitely delighted in mixing with these sev- 
eral ministers of commerce, as they are distinguished by their 
different walks and different languages: sometimes I am jostled 
among a body of Armenians; sometimes I am lost in a crowd 
5 of Jews; and sometimes make one in a group of Dutchmen. I 
am a Dane, Swede, or Frenchman at different times; or rather 
fancy myself like the old philosopher, who upon being asked 
what countryman he was, replied that he was a citizen of the 
world. 

10 Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude of people, 
I am known to nobody there but my friend Sir Andrew, who 
often smiles upon me as he sees me bustling in the crowd, but 
at the same time connives at my presence without taking any 
further notice of me. There is indeed a merchant of Egypt, 

15 who just knows me by sight, having formerly remitted me some 

money to Grand Cairo; but as I am not versed in the modern 

Coptic, our conferences go no further than a bow and a grimace. 

This grand scene of business gives me an infinite variety of 

solid and substantial entertainments. As I am a great lover of 

20 mankind, my heart naturally overflows with pleasure at the 
sight of a prosperous and happy multitude, insomuch, that at 
many public solemnities I cannot forbear expressing my joy 
with tears that have stolen down my cheeks. For this reason I 
am wonderfully delighted to see such a body of men thriving in 

25 their own private fortunes, and at the same time promoting the 
public stock; or, in other words, raising estates for their own 
families, by bringing into their country whatever is wanting, and 
carrying out of it whatever is superfluous. 

Nature seems to have taken a peculiar care to disseminate the 

30 blessings among the different regions of the world with an eye 
to this mutual intercourse and traflfic among mankind, that the 
natives of the several parts of the globe might have a kind of 
dependence upon one another and be united together by their 
common interest. Almost every degree produces something 

35 peculiar to it. The food often grows in one country and the 
sauce in another. The fruits of Portugal are corrected by the 
products of Barbadoes; the infusion of a China plant sweetened 
with the pith of an Indian cane. The Philippine Islands give a 



THE ROYAL EXCHANGE 123 

flavor to our European bowls. The single dress of a woman of 
quality is often the product of a hundred climates. The muff 
and the fan come together from the different ends of the earth. 
The scarf is sent from the torrid zone, and the tippet from be- 
neath the pole. The brocade petticoat rises out of the mines of 5 
Peru, and the diamond necklace out of the bowels of Indostan. 
If we consider our own country in its natural prospect, without 
any of the benefits and advantages of commerce, what a barren, 
uncomfortable spot of earth falls to our share! Natural his- 
torians tell us, that no fruit grows originally among us besides 10 
hips and haws, acorns and pignuts, with other delicacies of the 
like nature; that our climate of itself, and without the assist- 
ance of art, can make no further advances toward a plum than 
to a sloe, and carries an apple to no greater perfection than a 
crab: that our melons, our peaches, our figs, our apricots, and 15 
cherries, are strangers among us, imported in different ages, 
and naturalized in our English gardens; and that they would all 
degenerate and fall away into the trash of our own country, if they 
were wholly neglected by the planter and left to the mercy of 
our sun and soil. Nor has traffic more enriched our vegetable 20 
world, than it has improved the whole face of nature among us. 
Our ships are laden with the harvest of every climate: our tables 
are stored with spices, and oils, and wines; our rooms are filled 
with pyramids of China, and adorned with the workmanship of 
Japan; our morning's draught comes to us from the remotest 25 
corners of the earth; we repair our bodies by the drugs of 
America and repose ourselves under Indian canopies. My 
friend Sir Andrew calls the vineyards of France our gardens; 
the Spice Islands our hot-beds; the Persians our silk-weavers, 
and the Chinese our potters. Nature indeed furnishes us with 30 
the bare necessities of life, but traffic gives us a great variety of 
what is useful, and at the same time supplies us with everything 
that is convenient and ornamental. Nor is it the least part of 
this our happiness, that while we enjoy the remotest products of 
the north and south, we are free from those extremities of weather 35 
which give them birth; that our eyes are refreshed with the 
green fields of Britain, at the same time that our palates are; 
feasted with fruits that rise between the tropics. 



124 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

For these reasons there are not more useful members in a 
commonwealth than merchants. They knit mankind together 
in a mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute the gifts of 
nature, find work for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and 
5 magnificence to the great. Our English merchant converts the 
tin of his own country into gold, and exchanges his wool for 
rubies. The Mahometans are clothed in our British manu- 
facture, and the inhabitants of the frozen zone warmed with 
the fleeces of our sheep. 

10 When I have been upon the Change, I have often fancied one 
of our old kings standing in person where he is represented in 
effigy, and looking down upon the wealthy concourse of people 
with which that place is every day filled. In this case, how would 
he be surprised to hear all the languages of Europe spoken in 

15 this little spot of his former dominions, and to see so many pri- 
vate men, who in his time would have been the vassals of some 
powerful baron, negotiating like princes for greater sums of 
money than were formerly to be met with in the royal treasury! 
Trade, without enlarging the British territories, has given us a 

20 kind of additional empire; it has multiplied the number of the 
rich, made our landed estates infinitely more valuable than they 
were formerly, and added to them the accession of other estates 
as valuable as the lands themselves. C. 



XXXV 

THE CRIES OF LONDON 

[Spectator No. 251. Tuesday, Dec. 18, 1711. Addison.] 

Linguae centum sunt, oraque centum, 

Ferrea vox. — Vergil, ^neid, vi, 625. 

[ " A hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, 

And throats of brass inspired with iron lungs." — Dryden.] 

There is nothing which more astonishes a foreigner, and frights 

25 a country squire, than the cries of London. My good friend 

Sir Roger often declares, that he cannot get them out of his 

head, or go to sleep for them, the first week that he is in town. 



THE CRIES OF LONDON 125 

On the contrary, Will Honeycomb calls them the Ramage de la 
Ville, and prefers them to the sounds of larks and nightingales, 
with all the music of the fields and woods. I have lately re- 
ceived a letter from some very odd fellow upon this subject, 
which I shall leave with my reader, without saying anything 5 
further of it. 

"Sir: 

" I am a man of all business, and would willingly turn my 
head to anything for an honest livelihood. . I have invented sev- 
eral projects for raising many millions of money without burthen- 10 
ing the subject, but I cannot get the parliament to listen to me, 
who look upon me, forsooth, as a crack and a projector; so that 
despairing to enrich either myself or my country by this public- 
spiritedness, I would make some proposals to you relating to a 
design which I have very much at heart, and which may procure 15 
me a handsome subsistence, if you will be pleased to recommend 
it to the cities of London and Westminster. 

"The post I would aim at is to be Comptroller-general of 
the London Cries, which are at present under no manner of 
rules or discipline. I think I am pretty well qualified for this 20 
place, as being a man of very strong lungs, of great insight into 
all the branches of our British trades and manufactures, and of 
a competent skill in music. 

"The cries of London may be divided into vocal and instru- 
mental. As for the latter, they are at present under a very 25 
great disorder. A freeman of London has the privilege of dis- 
turbing a whole street, for an hour together, with the twanking 
of a brass kettle or a frying-pan. The watchman's at midnight 
startles us in our beds as much as the breaking in of a thief. 
The sowgelder's horn has indeed something musical in it, but 30 
this is seldom heard within the liberties. I would therefore 
propose that no instrument of this nature should be made use 
of which I have not tuned and licensed, after having carefully 
examined in what manner it may affect the ears of her Majesty's 
liege subjects. 35 

"Vocal cries are of a much greater extent, and indeed so full 
of incongruities and barbarisms, that we appear a distracted city 



126 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

to foreigners, who do not comprehend the meaning of such enor- 
mous outcries. Milk is generally sold at a note above E-la, and 
it sounds so exceedingly shrill, that it often sets our teeth on 
edge. The chimney-sweeper is confined to no certain pitch; 
5 he sometimes utters himself in the deepest bass, and sometimes 
in the sharpest treble; sometimes in the highest, and sometimes 
in the lowest note of the gamut. The same observation might be 
made on retailers of small-coal, not to mention broken glasses, 
or brick-dust. In these, therefore, and the like cases, it should 

10 be my care to sweeten and mellow the voices of these itinerant 
tradesmen, before they make their appearance in our streets, as 
also to accommodate their cries to their respective wares; and to 
take care in particular that those may not make the most noise 
who have the least to sell, which is very observable in the venders 

15 of card-matches, to whom I cannot but apply that old proverb 
of 'Much cry, but little wool.' 

"Some of these last-mentioned musicians are so very loud in 
the sale of these trifling manufactures that an honest splenetic 
gentleman of my acquaintance bargained with one of them 

20 never to come into the street where he lived: but what was the 
effect of this contract? Why, the whole tribe of card-match- 
makers, which frequent that quarter, passed by his door the 
very next day, in hopes of being bought off after the same 
manner. 

25 "It is another great imperfection in our London cries, that 
there is no just time nor measure observ'ed in them. Our news 
should, indeed, be published in a very quick time, because it is a 
commodity that will not keep cold. It should not, however, be 
cried with the same precipitation as *fire': yet this is generally 

30 the case. A bloody battle alarms the town from one end to 
another in an instant. Every motion of the French is published 
in so great a hurry that one would think the enemy were at our 
gates. This likewise I would take upon me to regulate in such 
a manner that there should be some distinction made between 

35 the spreading of a victory, a march, or an encampment, a Dutch, 
a Portugal, or a Spanish mail. Nor must I omit, under this 
head, those excessive alarms with which several boisterous rustics 
infest our streets in turnip season; and which are more inexcus- 



THE CRIES OF LONDON 127 

able, because these are wares which are in no danger of cooling 
upon their hands. 

"There are others who affect a very slow time, and are, in my 
opinion, much more tunable than the former; the cooper, in 
particular, swells his last note in an hollow voice, that is not 5 
without its harmony: nor can I forbear being inspired with a 
most agreeable melancholy when I hear that sad and solemn 
air with which the public are very often asked, if they have any 
chairs to mend ? Your own memory may suggest to you many 
other lamentable ditties of the same nature, in which the music 10 
is wonderfully languishing and melodious. 

"I am always pleased with that particular tijne of the year 
which is proper for the picking of dill and cucumbers; but, 
alas, this cry, like the song of the nightingale, is not heard 
above two months. It would, therefore, be worth while, to con- 15 
sider whether the same air might not in some cases be adapted 
to other words. 

"It might likewise deserve our most serious consideration, • 
how far, in a well-regulated city, those humorists are to be 
tolerated, who, not contented with the traditional cries of their 20 
forefathers have invented particular songs, and tunes of their 
own: such as was, not many years since, the pastry-man, com- 
monly known by the name of the Colly-molly-puff; and such as 
is at this day the vender of powder and wash-balls, who, if I am 
rightly informed, goes under the name of Powder Watt. 25 

"I must not here omit one particular absurdity which runs 
through this whole vociferous generation, and which renders 
their cries very often not only incommodious but altogether use- 
less to the public; I mean that idle accomplishment which they 
all of them aim at, of crying so as not to be understood. Whether 30 
or no they have learned this from several of our afffected 
singers, -I will not take upon me to say; but most certain it is 
that people know the wares they deal in rather by their tunes 
than by their words; insomuch that I have sometimes seen a 
country boy run out to buy apples of a bellows-mender and 35 
ginger-bread from a grinder of knives and scissors. Nay, so 
strangely infatuated are some very eminent artists of this par- 
ticular grace in a cry that none but their acquaintance are able 



128 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

to guess at their profession ; for who else can know that * Work 
if I had it ' should be the signification of a corn-cutter. 

"Forasmuch, therefore, as persons of this rank are seldom 

men of genius or capacity, I think it would be very proper that 

5 some man of good sense and sound judgment should preside 

over these public cries, who should permit none to lift up their 

voices in our streets that have not tunable throats and are not 

only able to overcome the noise of the crowd and the rattling 

of coaches, but also to vend their respective merchandises in apt 

10 phrases, and in the most distinct and agreeable sounds. I do 

therefore humbly recommend myself as a person rightly qualified 

for this post; and if I meet with fitting encouragement, shall 

communicate some other projects which I have by me that may 

no less conduce to the emolument of the public. 

15 "I am, Sir, etc. 

"Ralph Crotchet." 
C. 

XXXVI 

THE TRANSMIGRATIONS OF PUGG THE MONKEY 

[Spectator No. 343. Thursday, April 3, 1712. Addison.] 

Errat, et illinc 

Hue venit, hinc illuc, et quoslibet occupat artus 
Spiritus: seque feris humana in corpora transit, 
Inque feras noster. — Ovid. 

[ "All things are altered: nothing dies; 

And here and there th' unbodied spirit flies, 

By time, or force, or sickness dispossessed, 

And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast." — Drtden.1 

Will Honeycomb, who loves to show upon occasion all the little 
learning he has picked up, told us yesterday at the club, that he 

20 thought there might be a great deal said for the transmigration of 
souls, and that the eastern parts of the world believed in that 
doctrine to this day. "Sir Paul Rycaut," says he, "gives us an 
account of several well-disposed Mahometans that purchase the 
freedom of any little bird they see confined to a cage, and think 

25 they merit as much by it as we should do here by ransoming 



THE TRANSMIGRATIONS OF PUGG 129 

any of our countrymen from their captivity at Algiers. You 
must know," says Will, "the reason is, because they consider 
every animal as a brother or sister in disguise, and think them- 
selves obliged to extend their charity to them, though under such 
mean circumstances. They'll tell you," says Will, "that the 5 
soul of a man, when he dies, immediately passes into the body 
of another man, or of some brute, which he resembled in his 
humor or his fortune, when he was one of us." 

As I was wondering what this profusion of learning would 
end in. Will told us that Jack Freelove, who was a fellow of whim, lO 
made love to one of those ladies who throw away all their fond- 
ness on parrots, monkeys, and lap-dogs. Upon going to pay 
her a visit one morning, he wrote a pretty epistle upon this hint. 
"Jack," says he, "was conducted into the parlor, where he di- 
verted himself for some time with her favorite monkey, which was 15 
chained in one of the windows; till at length, observing a pen and 
ink lie by him, he writ the following letter to his mistress, in the 
person of the monkey; and upon her not coming down so soon as 
he expected, left it in the window, and went about his business. 

"The lady soon after coming into the parlor, and seeing her 20 
monkey look upon a paper with great earnestness, took it up, 
and to this day is in some doubt," says Will, "whether it was 
writ by Jack or the monkey." 

"Madam,— 

" Not having the gift of speech, I have a long time waited 25 
in vain for an opportunity of making myself known to you; and 
having at present the conveniences of pen, ink, and paper by 
me, I gladly take the occasion of giving you my history in 
writing, which I could not do by word of mouth. You must 
know. Madam, that about a thousand years ago I was an Indian 30 
Brachman, and versed in all those mysterious secrets which 
your European philosopher, called Pythagoras, is said to have 
learned from our fraternity. I had so ingratiated myself by my 
great skill in the occult sciences with a demon whom I used to 
converse with, that he promised to grant me whatever I should ask 35 
of him. I desired that my soul might never pass into the body of a 
brute creature; buc this he told me was not in his power to grant 



130 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

me. I then begged, that into whatever creature I should chance 
to transmigrate, I might still retain my memory, and be conscious 
that I was the same person who lived in different animals. This 
he told me was within his power, and accordingly promised on 
5 the word of a demon that he would grant me what I desired. 
From that time forth I lived so very unblamably, that I was made 
president of a college of Brachmans, an office which I discharged 
with great integrity till the day of my death. 

" I was then shuffled into another human body, and acted my 

10 part so very well in it that I became first minister to a prince 
who reigned upon the banks of the Ganges. I here lived in 
great honor for several years, but by degrees lost all the inno- 
cence of the Brachman, being obliged to rifle and oppress the 
people to enrich my sovereign; till at length I became so odious 

15 that my master, to recover his credit with his subjects, shot me 
through the heart with an arrow, as I was one day addressing 
myself to him at the head of his army. 

"Upon my next remove I found myself in the woods, under 
the shape of a jackal, and soon listed myself in the service of a 

20 lion. I used to yelp near his den about midnight, which was his 
time of rousing and seeking after his prey. He always followed 
me in the rear, and when I had run down a fat buck, a wild goat, 
or an hare, after he had feasted very plentifully upon it himself, 
would now and then throw me a bone that was but half-picked 

25 for my encouragement; but upon my being unsuccessful in two 
or three chases, he gave me such a confounded gripe in his 
anger that I died of it. 

" In my next transmigration I was again set upon two legs and 
became an Indian tax-gatherer; but having been guilty of great 

30 extravagances and being married to an expensive jade of a 
wife, I ran so cursedly in debt that I durst not show my head. 
I could no sooner step out of my house but I was arrested by 
somebody or other that lay in wait for me. As I ventured abroad 
one night in the dusk of the evening, I was taken up and hurried 

35 into a dungeon, where I died a few months after. 

" My soul then entered into a flying-fish, and in that state led a 
most melancholy life for the space of six years. Several fishes of 
prey pursued me when I was in the water, and if I betook 



THE TRANSMIGRATIONS OF PUGG 131 

myself to my wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of birds 
aiming at me. As I was one day flying amidst a fleet of English 
ships, I observed a huge sea-gull whetting his bill and hovering 
just over my head; upon my dipping into the water to avoid 
him, I fell into the mouth of a monstrous shark, that swallowed 5 
me down in an instant. 

*' I was some years afterward, to my great surprise, an emi- 
nent banker in Lombard Street; and remembering how I had 
formerly suffered for want of money, became so very sordid and 
avaricious that the whole town cried shame of me. I was a 10 
miserable little old fellow to look upon, for I had in a manner 
starved myself, and was nothing but skin and bone when I died. 

"I was afterward very much troubled and amazed to find 
myself dwindled into an emmet. I was heartily concerned to 
make so insignificant a figure, and did not know but some time 15 
or other I might be reduced to a mite if I did not mend my 
manners. I therefore applied myself with greater diligence to 
the ofiices that were allotted me, and was generally looked upon 
as the notablest ant in the whole mole-hill. I was at last 
picked up, as I was groaning under a burden, by an unlucky 20 
cock-sparrow that lived in our neighborhood, and had before 
made great depredations upon our commonwealth. 

" I then bettered my condition a little, and lived a whole sum- 
mer in the shape of a bee; but being tired with the painful and 
penurious life I had undergone in my two last transmigrations, I 25 
fell into the other extreme; and turned drone. As I one day 
headed a party to plunder a hive, we were received so warmly 
by the swarm which defended it that we were most of us left 
dead upon the spot. 

"I might tell you of many other transmigrations I went 30 
through; how I was a town-rake, and afterward did penance 
in a bay horse for ten years; as also how I was a tailor, a shrimp, 
and a tom-tit. In the last of these my shapes, I was shot in the 
Christmas holidays by a young jackanapes who would needs 
try his new gun upon me. 35 

" But I shall pass over these and several other stages of life, to 
remind you of the young beau who made love to you about six 
years since. You may remember, Madam, how he masked, and 



132 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

danced, and sung, and played a thousand tricks to gain you; 
and how he was at last carried off by a cold that he got under 
your window one night in a serenade. I was that unfortunate 
young fellow whom you were then so cruel to. Not long after 
5 my shifting that unlucky body, I found myself upon a hill in 
^Ethiopia, where I lived in my present grotesque shape, till I was 
caught by a servant of the English factory and sent over into 
Great Britain. I need not inform you how I came into your 
hands. You see. Madam, this is not the first time you have 

10 had me in a chain ; I am, however, very happy in this my cap- 
tivity, as you often bestow on me those kindnesses which I would 
have given the world for, when I was a man. I hope this dis- 
covery of my person w^ill not tend to my disadvantage, but that 
you will still continue your accustomed favors to 

IS "Your most devoted humble servant, 

"Pugg. 

"P. S. — I would advise your little shock-dog to keep out of my 
way; for, as I look upon him to be the most formidable of my 
rivals, I may chance one time or other to give him such a snap 
20 as he won't like." 

L. 
XXXVII 

THE LOVES OF SHALUM AND HILPA 

[Spectator No. 584. Monday, August 23, 1714. Addison.] 

Hie gellida fontes, hie mollia prata, Lycori: 

Hie nemus, hie toto tecum consumerer sevo. — Vergil. 

["Come see what pleasures in our plains abound; 
The woods, the fountains, and the flowery ground : 
Here I could live, and love, and die, with only you." — Dryden.] 

HiLPA was one of the 150 daughters of Zilpah, of the race of 
Cohu, by whom some of the learned think is meant Cain. She 
was exceedingly beautiful, and when she was but a girl of 
three score and ten years of age, received the addresses of several 
25 who made love to her. Among these were two brothers, Har- 
path and Shalum. Harpath, being the first-born, was master of 
that fruitful region which lies at the foot of Mount Tirzah, in 



THE LOVES OF SHALUM AND HILPA 133 

the southern parts of China. Shalum (which is to say, the plant- 
er, in the Chinese language) possessed all the neighboring hills, 
and that great range of mountains which goes under the name 
of Tirzah. Harpath was of a haughty contemptuous spirit; 
Shalum was of a gentle disposition, beloved both by God and man. 5 

It is said that, among the antediluvian women, the daughters 
of Cohu had their minds wholly set upon riches; for which 
reason the beautiful Hilpa preferred Harpath to Shalum, because 
of his numerous flocks and herds that covered all the low country 
which runs along the foot of Mount Tirzah, and is watered by lO 
several fountains and streams breaking out of the sides of that 
mountain. 

Harpath made so quick a dispatch of his courtship that he 
married Hilpa in the hundredth year of her age; and being of 
an insolent temper, laughed to scorn his brother Shalum for 15 
having pretended to the beautiful Hilpa, when he was master 
of nothing but a long chain of rocks and mountains. This so 
much provoked Shalum that he is said to have cursed his brother 
in the bitterness of his heart, and to have prayed that one of his 
mountains might fall upon his head if ever he came within the 20 
shadow of it. 

From this time forward Harpath would never venture out of 
the valleys, but came to an untimely end in the 250th year of 
his age, being drowned in a river as he attempted to cross it. 
This river is called to this very day, from his name who perished 25 
in it, the River Harpath, and what is very remarkable, issues out 
of one of those mountains which Shalum wished might fall upon 
his brother when he cursed him in the bitterness of his heart. 

Hilpa was in the 160th year of her age at the death of her 
husband, having brought him but 50 children before he was 30 
snatched away, as has been already related. Many of the ante- 
diluvians made love to the young widow, though no one was 
thought so likely to succeed in her affections as her first lover 
Shalum, who renewed his court to her about ten years after the 
death of Harpath; for it was not thought decent in those days 35 
that a widow should be seen by a man within ten years after the 
decease of her husband. 

Shalum falling into a deep melancholy, and resolving to take 



134 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

away that objection which had been raised against him when he 
made his first addresses to Hilpa, began, immediately after her 
marriage with Harpath, to plant all that mountainous region 
which fell to his lot in the division of this country. He knew 
5 how to adapt every plant to its proper soil, and is thought to 
have inherited many traditional secrets of that art from the first 
man. This employment turned at length to his profit as well as 
his amusement; his mountains were in a few years shaded with 
young trees that gradually shot up into groves, woods, forests, 

10 intermixed with walks and lawns and gardens; insomuch that 
the whole region, from a naked and desolate prospect, began now 
to look like a second paradise. The pleasantness of the place, 
and the agreeable disposition of Shalum, who was reckoned one 
of the mildest and wisest of all who lived before the Flood, drew 

15 into it multitudes of people, who were perpetually employed in 

the sinking of wells, the digging of trenches, and the hollowing 

of trees, for the better distribution of water through every part 

of this spacious plantation. 

The habitations of Shalum looked every year more beautiful 

20 in the eyes of Hilpa, who, after the space of 70 autumns, was 
wonderfully pleased with the distant prospect of Shalum 's hills, 
which were then covered with innumerable tufts of trees, and 
gloomy scenes that gave a magnificence to the place, and con- 
verted it into one of the finest landscapes the eye of man could 

25 behold. 

The Chinese record a letter which Shalum is said to have 
written to Hilpa in the eleventh year of her widowhood. I shall 
here translate it, without departing from that noble simplicity 
of sentiments and plainness of manners which appears in the 

30 original. 

Shalum was at this time 180 years old, and Hilpa 170. 

*'Shalum, Master of Mount Tirzah, to Hilpa, Mistress of the 
Valleys. 

"In the 78Sth Year of the Creation. 
35 "What have I not suffered, O thou daughter of Zilpah, since 
thou gavest thyself away in marriage to my rival ? I grew weary 
of the light of the sun, and have been ever since covering myself 



SEQUEL OF STORY OF SHALUM AND HILPA 135 

with woods and forests. These threescore and ten years have I 
bewailed the loss of thee on the top of Mount Tirzah, and 
soothed my melancholy among a thousand gloomy shades of my 
own raising. My dwellings are at present as the garden of 
God; every part of them is filled with fruits and flowers and 5 
fountains. The whole mountain is perfumed for thy reception. 
Come up into it, O my beloved. Remember, O thou daughter 
of Zilpah, that the age of man is but a thousand years; that 
beauty is but the admiration of a few centuries. It flourishes as a 
mountain oak, or as a cedar on the top of Tirzah, which in three 10 
or four hundred years will fade away, and never be thought 
of by posterity, unless a young wood springs from its roots. 
Think well on this, and remember thy neighbor in the 
mountains." 

Having here inserted this letter, which I look upon as the 15 
only antediluvian billet-doux now extant, I shall in my next 
paper give the answer to it, and the sequel of this story. 

C. 

XXXVIII 

THE SEQUEL OP THE STORY OF SHALUM AND HILPA 

[Spectator No. 585. Wednesday, August 25, 1714. Addison.] 

Ipsi laetitia voces ad sidera jactant 
Intonsi montes: ipsae jam carmina rupes, 
Ipsae sonant arbusta. — Vergil. 

["The mountain-tops unshorn, the rocks rejoice: 

The lowly shrubs partake of human voice." — Dryden.] 

The letter inserted in my last had so good an effect upon Hilpa, 
that she answered it in less than a twelvemonth, after the follow- 20 
ing manner: — 

"Hilpa, Mistress of the Valleys, to Shalum, blaster of Mount 
Tirzah. 

''In the Year 789 of the Creation. 
"What have I to do with thee, O Shalum? Thou praisest 25 
Hilpa's beauty, but art thou not secretly enamored with the 



136 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

verdure of her meadows ? Art thou not more affected with the 
prospect of her green valleys than thou wouldst be with the 
sight of her person? The lowings of my herds and the bleat- 
ings of my flocks make a pleasant echo in thy mountains, and 
5 sound sweetly in thy ears. What though I am delighted with 
the wavings of thy forests, and those breezes of perfumes which 
flow from the top of Tirzah; are these like the riches of the 
valley? 

" I know thee, O Shalum; thou art more wise and happy than 

10 any of the sons of men. Thy dwellings are among the cedars; 
thou searchest out the diversity of soils, thou understandest the 
influences of the stars, and markest the change of seasons. Can 
a woman appear lovely in the eyes of such a one ? Disquiet me 
not, O Shalum; let me alone that I may enjoy those goodly pos- 

15 sessions which are fallen to my lot. Win me not by thy enticing 
words. May thy trees increase and multiply; mayest thou add 
wood to wood, and shade to shade; but tempt not Hilpa to 
destroy thy solitude, and make thy retirement populous." 

The Chinese say, that a little time afterward she accepted of 

20 a treat in one of the neighboring hills to which Shalum had 
invited her. This treat lasted for two years, and is said to have 
cost Shalum five hundred antelopes, two thousand ostriches, 
and a thousand tun of milk; but what most of all recommended 
it was that variety of delicious fruits and potherbs, in which 

25 no person then living could any way equal Shalum. 

He treated her in the bower which he had planted amidst the 
wood of nightingales. This wood was made up of such fruit- 
trees and plants as are most agreeable to the several kinds of 
singing birds; so that it had drawn into it all the music of the 

30 country, and was filled from one end of the year to the other 
with the most agreeable concert in season. 

He showed her every day some beautiful and surprising scene 
in this new region of woodlands; and as by this means he had 
all the opportunities he could wish for of opening his mind to 

35 her, he succeeded so well, that upon her departure she made him 
a kind of promise, and gave him her word to return him a posi- 
tive answer in less than fifty years. 



SEQUEL OF STORY OF SHALUM AND HILPA 137 

She had not been long among her own people in the valleys, 
when she received new overtures, and at the same time a most 
splendid visit from Mishpach, who was a mighty man of old, 
and had built a great city, which he called after his own name. 
Every house was made for at least a thousand years, nay, there 5 
were some that were leased out for three lives; so that the quantity 
of stone and timber consumed in this building is scarce to be 
imagined by those who live in the present age of the world. This 
great man entertained her with the voice of musical instruments 
which had been lately invented, and danced before her to the ic 
sound of the timbrel. He also presented her with several do- 
mestic utensils wrought in brass and iron, which had been newly 
found out for the conveniency of life. In the meantime Shalum 
grew very uneasy with himself, and was sorely displeased at 
Hilpa for the reception which she had given to Mishpach, inso- 15 
much that he never wrote to her or spoke of her during a whole 
revolution of Saturn; but finding that this intercourse went no 
further than a visit, he again renewed his addresses to her 
who, during his long silence, is said very often to have cast a 
wishing eye upon Mount Tirzah. 20 

Her mind continued wavering about twenty years longer be- 
tween Shalum and Mishpach; for though her inclinations fav- 
ored the former, her interest pleaded very powerfully for the 
other. While her heart was in this unsettled condition, the fol- 
lowing accident happened, which determined her choice. A 25 
high tower of wood that stood in the city of Mishpach, having 
caught fire by a flash of lightning, in a few days reduced the 
whole town to ashes. Mishpach resolved to rebuild the place 
whatever it should cost him: and having already destroyed all 
the timber of the country, he was forced to have recourse to 30 
Shalum, whose forests were now two hundred years old. He 
purchased these woods with so many herds of cattle and flocks 
of sheep and with such a vast extent of fields and pastures that 
Shalum was now grown more wealthy than Mishpach; and 
therefore appeared so charming in the eyes of Zilpah's daughter, 35 
that she no longer refused him in marriage. On the day in 
which he brought her up into the mountains he raised a most 
prodigious pile of cedar and of every sweet-smelling wood, which 



138 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

reached above three hundred cubits in height: he also cast into 
the pile bundles of myrrh and sheaves of spikenard, enriching it 
with every spicy shrub and making it fat with the gums of his 
plantations. This was the burnt-offering which Shalum offered 
in the day of his espousals; the smoke of it ascended up to 
heaven, and filled the whole country with incense and perfume. 

C. 



XXXIX 

THE VISION OP MIRZAH 

4 

[Spectator No. 159, Saturday, September 1, 1711. — Addison.] 

— Omnem, quae nunc obducta tueuti 
Mortales hebetat visus tibi, et humida circum 
Caligat, nubem eripiam. — Vergil, "^neid " ii, 604. 

"The cloud, which, intercepting the clear light, 
Hangs o'er thy eyes, and blunts thy mortal sight, 
I will remove."] 

When I was at Grand Cairo I picked up several oriental 
manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others I met 

10 with one entitled The Visions of Mirzah, which I have read 

over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when 

I have no other entertainment for them; and shall begin with the 

first vision, which I have translated word for word as follows: — 

" On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom 

15 of my forefathers I always kept holy, after having washed myself, 
and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills 
of Bagdat in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and 
prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the moun- 
tains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human 

20 life; and passing from one thought to another, 'Surely,' said I, 
* man is but a shadow and life a dream.' Whilst I was thus mus- 
ing, I cast my eyes toward the summit of a rock that was not 
far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, 
with a musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him 

25 he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound 
of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunea 



THE VISION OF MIRZAH 139 

that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from 
anything I had ever heard. They put me in mind of those 
heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men 
upon their first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions 
of their last agonies and qualify them for the pleasures of that 5 
happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures. 

" I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt 
of a genius; and that several had been entertained with music 
who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had be- 
fore made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts, by 10 
those transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of 
his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he 
beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to 
approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that rever- 
ence which is due to a superior nature; and as my heart was 15 
entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell 
down at his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a 
look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to my 
imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehen- 
sions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the 20 
ground, and taking me by the hand, ' Mirzah,' said he, ' I have 
heard thee in thy soliloquies, follow me.' 

"He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and 
placed me on the top of it. 'Cast thy eyes eastward,' said he, 
*and tell me what thou seest.' *I see,' said I, 'a huge valley 25 
and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it.' 'The valley 
that thou seest,' said he, ' is the vale of misery, and the tide of 
water that thou seest is part of the great tide of eternity.' * What 
is the reason,' said I, 'that the tide I see rises out of a thick 
mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the 30 
other?' 'What thou seest,' said he, 'is that portion of eternity 
which is called time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from 
the beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now,' 
said he, 'this sea that is thus bounded with darkness at both ends, 
and tell me what thou discoverest in it.' ' I see a bridge,' said I, 35 
* standing in the midst of the tide.' ' The bridge thou seest,' said 
he, 'is human life; consider it attentively.' Upon a more lei- 
surely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten 



140 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

arches, with several broken arches, which added to those that 
were entire, made up the number about an hundred. As I was 
counting the arches the genius told me that this bridge consisted 
at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood swept away 
5 the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld 
it. * But tell me, further,' said he, ' what thou discoverest on it.' 
*I see multitudes of people passing over it,' said I, 'and a black 
cloud hanging on each end of it.' As I looked more attentively, 
I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge into 

10 the great tide that flowed underneath it; and upon further 
examination perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that 
lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod 
upon but they fell through them into the tide and immediately 
disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at the 

16 entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke 
through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew 
thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer to- 
gether towards the end of the arches that were entire. 

" There were indeed some persons, but their number was very 

20 small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken 
arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and 
spent with so long a walk. 

"I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful 
structure and the great variety of objects which it presented. 

25 My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several drop- 
ping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and catching 
at everything that stood by them to save themselves. Some were 
looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in 
the midst of a speculation stumbled and fell out of sight. Mul- 

30 titudes were very busy in the pursuit of baubles that glittered 
in their eyes and danced before them, but often when they 
thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed 
and down they sunk. In this confusion of objects, I observed 
some with scimitars in their hands, and others with lancets, who 

35 ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons upon 
trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and which 
they might have escaped, had they not been thus forced upon 
tbem. 



THE VISION OF MIRZAH 141 

"The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy 
prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it. 'Take thine 
eyes off the bridge,' said he, 'and tell me if thou yet seest any- 
thing thou dost not comprehend.' Upon looking up, 'What 
mean,' said I, 'those great flights of birds that are perpetually 5 
hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to 
time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and among 
many other feathered creatures, several little winged boys, that 
perch in great numbers upon the middle arches.' 'These,' 
said the genius, 'are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, lO 
with the like cares and passions, that infest human life.' 

"I here fetched a deep sigh. 'Alas,' said I, 'man was made 
in vain! How is he given away to misery and mortality! tort- 
ured in life, and swallowed up in death!' The genius, being 
moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfort- 15 
able a prospect. ' Look no more,' said he, ' on man in the first 
stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast 
thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the sev- 
eral generations of mortals that fall into it.' I directed my sight 
as I was ordered, and (whether or no the good genius strength- 20 
ened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the 
mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw 
the valley opening at the farther end and spreading forth into 
an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant running 
through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal parts. 25 
The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could 
discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to me a vast ocean 
planted with innumerable islands that w^ere covered with fruits 
and flowers and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas 
that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious 30 
habits with garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, 
lying down by the sides of the fountains, or resting on beds of 
flowers; and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, 
falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. Glad- 
ness grew in me upon the discovery of so delightful a scene. I 35 
wished for the wings of an eagle that I might fly away to those 
happy seats; but the genius told me there was no passage to 
them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every 



142 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

moment upon the bridge. 'The islands,' said he, 'that lie so 
fresh and green before thee, and with which the whole face of 
the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in 
number than the sands on the sea-shore; there are myriads of 
5 islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching far- 
ther than thine eye, or even thine imagination, can extend itself. 
These are the mansions of good men after death, who, accord- 
ing to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, 
are distributed among these several islands, which abound with 

10 pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes 
and perfections of those who are settled in them ; every island is 
a paradise, accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are 
not these, O IMirzah, habitations worth contending for ? Does 
life appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning 

15 such a reward ? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to 
so happy an existence ? Think not man was made in vain who 
has such an eternity reserved for him.' I gazed with inexpres- 
sible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, 'Show 
me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark 

20 clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of 
adamant.' The genius making me no answer, I turned about 
to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he 
had left me. I then turned again to the vision which I had been 
so long contemplating, but, instead of the rolling tide, the arched 

25 bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long hol- 
low valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon 
the sides of it." 

The end of the First Vision of Mirzah. 

C. 



NOTES 

1.— THE SPECTATOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF 

The Mottoes. — ^The mottoes, usually in Latin, sometimes in 
Greek, which stand at the head of these papers, are always apt, 
and often are shrewdly chosen to give a sort of key-note to the 
paper which follows. Addison, at least, was widely acquainted 
in classical literature. The translations of the mottoes given 
in this edition are taken, with few exceptions, from the Lon- 
don edition of 1846, published by Chidley. 

Page 3, Line 1 — A reader, etc. " No reader cares about an 
author's person before reading his book; it is after reading it, 
and supposing the book to reveal something of the writer's 
moral nature, as modifying his intellect; it is for his fun, his 
fancy, his sadness, possibly his craziness, that any reader cares 
about seeing the author in person — no man ever wished to see 
the author of a Ready Reckoner, or of the Agistment Tithe, or 
on the Present Deplorable Dry Rot in Potatoes." (De Quincey, 
in Notes on Walter Savage Landor (iv, 307).) 

3, 7 — prefatory discourses. If these two papers are read 
carefully by the student he will see how The Spectator is intro- 
duced to its readers, how the necessary advertising is managed, 
and how a general idea of what is to follow is so skilfully re- 
vealed that the reader will want to see the succeeding papers 
of the series. 

3, 14 — William the Conqueror's time. In 1066, William, 
Duke of Normandy, a claimant of the English throne, defeated 
King Harold, and conquered England. Practically all the 
land in England passed into his hands, or into those of his 
barons. 

3, 15 — whole and entire. With all its fields or divisions, 
and with all its divisions unbroken. 

4, 9 — coral. A small ring, used by babies when they are 
teething. 

4, 13 — nonage. The time before a person becomes of age. 

143 



144 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

4, 14 — my parts. His character, or his quahties. 

4, 16 — profound silence. Addison is not, of course, giving 
here his own biography, but much of what he says here appHea 
very well to himself. He was not a great talker except when 
in the company of a few intimates. Observe, too, that Mr. 
Spectator almost never speaks in the following papers. 

4, 22 — the learned tongues. Latin and Greek. 

4, 32 — the measure of a pyramid. John Greaves (1602- 
1652), a mathematician, and professor of astronomy at Oxford, 
had published a pamphlet dealing with the measurements of 
the pyramids. Addison himself never visited Egypt. 

4, 35 — this city. London, or rather the small central sec- 
tion of the great municipality under the rule of the Lord Mayor. 

4, 38 — place of general resort. See the Introduction for 
the part played by coffee-houses in the life of the time. Of the 
coffee-houses mentioned in the text. Will's, at the comer of 
Bow and Great Russell Streets, had been a favorite resort of 
literary men ever since the poet Dryden had made it his head- 
quarters; Child's, in St. Paul's Church-yard, was popular with 
the clergy, and with literary men; St. James's, in St. James 
Street, was the special rendezvous of the Whig politicians; 
the Grecian, in Devereaux Court, was frequented by Templars 
and scholars; the Cocoa-Tree, in St. James Street, was the 
gathering-place of the Tory politicians, and was not a coffee- 
house at all, but a chocolate-house; while Jonathan's, in Ex- 
change Alley, was where the merchants and stock-brokers 
"most did congregate." 

5, 6 — The Postman. A newspaper of Queen Anne's time, 
published three times a week. Its editor was a Frenchman 
named Fonvive. 

5, 11 — theatres. The two mentioned here were the principal 
houses open in London at that time. There all of Addison's 
and Steele's plays were presented. 

5, 12 — Exchange. The head-quarters of the dealers in stocks, 
and the principal merchants. The business head-quarters of 
London, and so of England. 

6, 19 — speculative. Theoretical. 

5, 22 — economy. Used here in its original meaning of 
housekeeping. 

5, 24 — blots. In the game of backgammon, a blot is the 
leaving of a piece in an exposed position where the adversary 
can take it. 



NOTES 145 

6, 32 — Mr. Buckley's, in Little Britain. The Spectator was 
printed by Samuel Buckley, who had in 1702 started the first 
English daily newspaper, a tiny sheet called The Daily Courant. 
Little Britain is a short street in London, the subject of an in- 
teresting essay in Irving's Sketch Book. 

6, 37 — C. The papers which Addison wrote for The Spectator 
are signed C, L, I, or O, the four letters making the name of Clio, 
that one of the nine Muses who presided over history, Steele's 
papers are signed R or T; Budgell's, X. In Spectator, No. 221, 
Addison has a whimsical discussion of the mottoes and signa- 
tures of the various papers. 



XL— THE CLUB 

7, 2 — baronet. The lowest order of nobility in England, 
carrying with it the title Sir. 

— Sir Roger de Coverley. Steele tells us that Jonathan 
Swift suggested that the old knight be called after the popular 
dance, which was, in fact, named after a knight of the time of 
Richard I, and so was more than five hundred years old. The 
tune may still be found in popular collections of English dance 
music. 

7, 3 — country dance. The square dance, like the Virginia 
reel and the lancers, where the partners stand opposite each 
other. It is sometimes confused with contra-dance, a term 
derived from the French contredance, where the partners also 
stand opposite each other, 

7, 9 — humor. Physiologists in old times believed that there 
were four humors or liquids in the body which determined one's 
character. These were phlegm, which made one phlegmatic; 
choler or yellow bile, which made one choleric; melancholy or 
black bile; and blood, which gave one a sanguine temperament. 

7, 13 — Soho Square. A fashionable quarter of London, now 
fallen into some disrepute. Evidently the authors of The 
Spectator forgot this town residence of Sir Roger, for when he 
comes up to London he lodges just off the Strand in Norfolk 
Buildings. 

7, 17 — Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege. John Wil- 
mot. Earl of Rochester (1647-1680), and Sir George Etherege 
(1634-1694) were " fine gentlemen " who flourished in the dis- 
solute times of Charles II. Rochester drank himself to death 



146 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

at the age of thirty-three, and Etherege, though possessed of 
some dramatic ability, ended his Hfe by falling downstairs 
when he was drunk. 

7, 18 — Bully Dawson. A swaggering sharper of the times 
when Sir Roger was a young man, thirty years at least before 
the date of this paper. 

7, 23 — dressed. That is, in the prevailing fashion. 

— doublet. A close-fitting over-garment for men, some- 
thing like the modern sweater, or coat and vest combined. A 
coat of more elaborate cut and trimming was usually worn 
over it. 

7, 25 — in and out. That is, of the fashion. 

8, 9 — justice of the quorum. This office is similar to the 
modem office of justice of the peace. It is so called here be- 
cause the first word of the Latin commission formerly issued 
to these justices was "Quorum," — "Of whom we will that 
.... be one, etc. 

8, 10 — quarter-session. The court of the justice of the quo- 
rum held a session for criminal cases at least four times a year. 

8, 11 — Game Act. The Game Act of Charles II prescribed 
regulations as to the privilege of keeping guns and hunting. 
Land-owners whose income was at least £100 a year, and all 
those above that figure, with their heirs and sons, were com- 
petent to hunt. 

8, 14 — Inner Temple. One of the four societies in England 
which are in charge of admitting lawyers to the bar. The other 
three are the Middle Temple, Gray's Inn, and Lincoln's Inn. 
Together they are called the Inns of Court. The Templars get 
their name from the fact that they occupy the property in 
London formerly belonging to the Knights Templars. 

8, 19 — Aristotle. The famous Greek philosopher who laid 
down the principles of dramatic art. He lived from 384 to 
322 B. C. 

8, 20 — Longinus. This Latin writer (210-273), in his treat- 
ise On the Sublime, carried on the principles of Aristotle. 
Both these critics were admired and followed by the writers of 
Queen Anne's time, 

—Littleton. Sir Thomas Littleton (1402-1481), one of 
the founders of English real-estate law, wrote a famous work 
in French on Tenures. 

8, 21— Coke. Sir Edward Coke (1552-1634) translated and 
annotated Littleton's book under the title The Institutes of Sir 



NOTES 147 

Edward Coke, but popularly known as Coke on Littleton. This 
is still a primary source of authority in all matters of real-estate 
law. 

8, 27 — Demosthenes and Tully. The most distinguished 
orators of Greece and Rome, respectively. We know Tully 
better by his name Cicero. His full name was Marcus Tullius 
Cicero. 

8, 38 — exactly at five. In Queen Anne's time the theatres 
began at six or about that time. Fashionable men dined at 
four, looked in at a coffee-house on their way to the play, and 
arrived at the theatre just in time. The Templar here is on his 
way to Drury Lane Theatre. New Inn is one of the buildings 
of the Middle Temple. The Rose is a tavern at the entrance to 
the theatre. 

9, 6 — Sir Andrew Freeport. In this character we see re- 
flected many of the opinions of Addison and Steele. Dr. 
Johnson thinks that if they had not decided to keep politics 
out of the paper, we should have had from Sir Andrew more 
of the particular Whig opinions of the time. His name indicates 
some of the Whig opinions, and he is drawn altogether in a way 
exceedingly complimentary to the merchant class. 

9, 20 — "A penny," etc. Evidently the original of Franklin's 
Poor Richard maxim, "A penny saved is a penny earned." 

10, 36 — habits. Costumes. The word survives in our " riding- 
habit." 

11, 9 — Duke of Monmouth. A natural son of Charles II, 
who led a rebellion against James II in 1685. He was defeated 
at the battle of Sedgemoor, taken prisoner, and beheaded. His 
personal beauty and pleasing manners made him a favorite 
with others than women. Dryden took him as the original of 
Absalom in his poem Absalom and Achitophel. See Macaulay's 
account of him in his History of England. 

11, 33 — chamber-counsellor. A lawyer who does not go into 
court, but confines his activities to office practice. 



III.— SIR ROGER ON MEN OF FINE PARTS 

This is one of many papers by Steele which criticise men who 
divorce culture and morality. Its arguments are still sound. 

12, 23 — monster. The technical name for any animal which 
is contrary to nature, like a two-headed calf or a five-legged cat. 



148 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

13, 1 — Lincoln' s-Inn-Fields. An open place west of Lincoln's 
Inn much infested with beggars and mountebanks. 

13, 13 — done with an air. Not what you do, but how you 
do it. The example of the French court of Louis XIV, and of 
the English court of Charles 11, both tended in this direction. 
Steele and Addison did much to foster a juster morality. 

13, 14 — whimsical. Peculiar. 

13, 16 — equipage. First the trappings of a horse, then of a 
knight who rode horseback, and finally, as here, the equipment 
and surroundings of a gentleman. 

13, 27 — starts. A hunting term, meaning the beginning of 
a chase after game. It hints humorously at the character of 
Sir Roger, who, later in The Spectator, is shown to be a great 
fox-hunter. 

14, 4 — Sir Richard Blackmore. A dull, long-winded poet 
whose work has little except its virtue to commend it. The 
sentiments here seem to be taken from the preface of an epic 
published in 1695, entitled Prince Arthur. His dates are 
1650-1729. 

15, 4 — commonwealth. A name for the state, stilPused in 
parts of our country: e.g., the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. 



IV.— A MEETING OF THE CLUB 

16, 13 — the opera and the puppet-show. Italian opera had 
recently been introduced into England, where its absurdities 
had received rather sarcastic criticism. Already The Spectator 
had called attention to the lack of common-sense in some of the 
productions. See Nos. 5, 13, 14, 18, 22, 29, 31 in any complete 
edition of The Spectator. Puppet-shows were numerous, and 
in some cases ambitious; they have come down from remote 
antiquity to our own time. 

16, 20 — the City. See Introduction, p. xxx. 

16, 32 — wits of King Charles's time. The comedies of the 
Restoration were noted for the looseness of their morality, and 
further for the fact that intrigues with the wives and daughters 
of London citizens were supposed to be comic. Wycherley, 
Farquhar, Vanbrugh, and Congreve all produced comedies 
which are cases in point. 

16, 33 — Horace. The Latin poet, critic, and satirist (65-8 
B. C). 



NOTES 149 

16, 34 — Juvenal. An author of the most famous Latin 
satires (60-140). 

— Boileau. A French critic and satirist, visited by Ad- 
dison on his first European trip (1636-1711). 

17, 1 — Inns of Court. See note on Inner Temple, 8, 14, 
The criticism referred to is in No, 21 of The Spectator. 

17, 11 — fox-hunters. This seems a mistake, for up to this 
time Mr. Spectator had not mentioned fox-hunters. He does 
later (see Nos. XIV and XV of this book). In The Freeholder, 
No. 22, five years later, Addison drew his famous portrait of 
the Tory fox-hunter. 

17, 24 — clergyman. Perhaps the reason Mr. Spectator is so 
lenient with the clergy is because Addison's father was a clergy- 
man, and he himself was bred for that calling. 

17, 31 — aggravate. This much-abused word is here used 
correctly. 

17, 36 — those vices, etc. This passage shows admirably one 
of the great purposes of The Spectator. 

18, 14 — to combat, etc. Criticism, like divine judgment, 
should be directed against the sin, not the sinner. 

18, 18 — Roman triumvirate. The second triumvirate — 
Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus. See Shakespeare's Julius 
Ccesar, Act IV, Sc. 1. 

18, 27 — Punch. The famous character in the puppet-show 
of Punch and Judy, founded on Robert Powell, a hunchbacked 
dwarf, who had a puppet-show in Covent Garden. 



v.— LEONORA'S LIBRARY 

19, 12 — folios. Large volumes in which the bookbinder's 
paper was folded only once, making two sheets or four pages. 
Quartos and octavos had four and eight sheets, respectively. 

— china. The collection of china had been for some time 
a fashionable craze in England. 

19, 23 — scaramouches. China figures in the form of the 
famous Italian clown, Scaramuccia. 

19, 24 — mandarins. China figures, like the magistrates of 
China for whom they are named. They sometimes have loose 
heads which wag in a solemn way. 

19, 27 — snuff-box. Ladies, it seems, were beginning to use 
tobacco in England. Steele, in No. 344 of The Spectator, calls 



150 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

the habit " impertinent," " a silly trick," " nauseous," and 
says he is " extremely disgusted with this filthy physic." 

20, 2 — fagots. Persons hired to take the places of others at 
the muster of a company. 

20, 11 — Ogilby's Vergil, etc. Ogilby in 1649 made the first 
complete translation of Vergil, the Latin poet; Dry den trans- 
lated the Satires of Juvenal in 1693; Cassandra, Cleopatra, and 
Astrcea were English versions of popular French romances, 
the first two by La Calprenede, the third by Honore D'Urf^; 
The Grand Cyrus and Clelia were also romances by Mademoi- 
selle de Scudery, each in ten volumes. Fortunately the volumes 
were short! Pembroke's Arcadia is the famous idealistic ro- 
mance by Sir Philip Sidney, written for his sister, the Countess 
of Pembroke, in 1580-81, but published only after his untimely 
death in Flanders; it is an interesting waymark in the evolu- 
tion of the English novel. John Locke's Essay on the Human 
Understanding, published in 1690, was written to show, among 
other things, that there are no such things as innate ideas. Is 
it probable that Leonora had read it? The patches were small 
pieces of black adhesive plaster which the beauties of that day 
pasted on their faces to enhance the beauty of their com- 
plexions, or to call attention to dimples and other charms 
William Sherlock (1641-1707) was dean of St. Paul's Cathedral. 
London. The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony, like so many 
other books in this library, was a translation from the French, 
Quinze Joies de Mariage. Sir William Temple was the patron 
of Jonathan Swift, and a famous and successful statesman and 
diplomat. The Ladies' Calling was an anonymous religious 
work, evidently by the same hand as The Whole Duty of Man, 
the most popular religious work of the day. Thomas D'Urfey 
(1650-1720) published in 1704 his Tales, Tragical and Comical. 
Another of his titles was Pills to Purge Melancholy. He was 
coarse and dissolute. The classic authors, whom Addison 
specially loved, were here only as wooden dummies. The 
Elzevirs, father and sons, were noted printers in Holland. In 
Leonora's library they were also bound by the carpenter. 
Baker's Chronicle of the Kings of England was a dull and spirit- 
less account of English history, very popular with Sir Roger, 
as may be seen in XXIX of this book. Advice to a Daughter 
was by George Saville, Marquis of Halifax, not Charles Mon- 
tague, Addison's friend. The New Atalantis, by Mrs. Manley, 
made scandalous attacks upon prominent Whigs, and so 



NOTES 151 

needed a key. For Steele's Christian Hero, see the Introduc- 
tion, p. xxiii. Hungary water was a favorite perfume of those 
days, compounded of alcohol, lavender, and rosemary. Dr. 
Sacheverell was a Tory preacher whom the Whig ministry tried 
to suppress with disastrous consequences to themselves. He 
was tried by the House of Lords, but his trial resulted in the 
fall of the Whigs from power. The speech mentioned here was 
that which he delivered in his own defence. It was said to be 
written for him by Samuel Wesley, father of John and Charles, 
the founders of IMethodism. Robert Fielding had been recently 
tried for having two wives. The Moral Essays of Seneca, in the 
translation of Robert L'Estrange, were frequently read at this 
time. Seneca (4 B. C.-65 A. D.), the Latin poet, critic, and 
moralist, exerted great influence on English thought and Eng- 
lish drama for many years. Some of the earliest English plays 
were directly inspired by him, Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667) is 
still widely read, and worthy of serious attention. La Ferte 
was the popular dancing master of the day. 

21, 16 — " Yes." The reader will be interested to see how 
many times Mr. Spectator actually speaks in the course of this 
book. 

22, 3 — turtles. Turtle-doves. " The time of the singing of 
birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the 
land." — Song of Solomon, iv, 12. 



VL— THE SPECTATOR'S VISIT TO COVERLEY HALL 

In this paper Addison takes up the character of Sir Roger, 
about whom Mr. Spectator has been silent for four months, 
and, improving on Steele's outline in No, 2, makes the character 
his own, though Steele and Budgell help at times, as will be 
seen. 

23, 11 — an hedge. The English have always been dubious 
about the value of initial h. 

23, 22 — privy counsellor. A member of the Privy Council, 
a large body of men who advise the sovereign on matters of 
public policy. Now usually written councillor. 

23, 23 — pad. A horse with an easy gait. 

24, 10 — pleasant. That is, when he jokes with them. 
Pleasantry is a modern survival of the same usage. 



152 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

24, 23 — chaplain. The country clergymen of the period 
were not usually worthy of much respect, as one may see in 
Macaulay's History, Chap, iii, or Ashton's Social Life in the 
Reign of Queen Anne, Chap, xxxii, but Addison as usual is 
kindly and genial in his treatment of Sir Roger's chaplain, 
though not specially complimentary to his intellectual powers. 

25, 30 — Bishop of St. Asaph. Probably William Beveridge 
(1637-1708), whose sermons were deservedly popular, though 
Addison may have meant William Fleetwood (1656-1723), for 
both men had published volumes of sermons before this time. 

—Dr. South. Robert South (1633-1716) was not without 
8ome salt of wit, for he says in the course of a sermon on the 
Holy Spirit, that the man who tries to understand the doctrine 
is in danger of losing his wits, while he who does not under- 
stand it is in danger of losing his soul. 

25, 33 — Tillotson. Archbishop of Canterbury and head of 
the English church. In 1689 his plan for uniting to the Church 
of England the various dissenting bodies was defeated by the 
high-church party, prominent among whom was Lancelot, the 
father of Joseph Addison. Tillotson lived from 1630 to 1694. 

— Saunderson. Robert Saunderson (1587-1663) was 
Bishop of Lincoln. 

— Barrow. Isaac Barrow (1630-1677) won fame as a 
mathematician. 

— Oalamy. Edward Calamy (1600-1666), sometime chap- 
lain of Charles II, is the only Presbji^erian in the chaplain's 
list. " His name gives breadth to the suggestion of Sir Roger's 
orthodoxy. ' ' — Morley . 

VII.— THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD 

26, 14 — corruption of manners in servants. In The SpectatOTy 
No. 88, Steele had given many instances of this corruption, and 
had promised to take up the subject again. The principal 
source of corruption was the vices of their masters which they 
imitated. 

27, 35 — husband. An economical man. So Goldsmith in 
TAe Deserted Village hopes 

"To husband out life's taper to its close." 

28, 1— when a tenement falls. When a tenant desired to 
transfer his lease to another before it was due, he was obliged 



NOTES 153 

to pay a fine for the privilege. This fine Sir Roger would 
sometimes bestow on a servant as a settlement. 

28, 16 — manumission. Originally a term of serfdom; to 
manumit was to dismiss from service into full personal liberty. 

29, 8 — took off the dress. To take off the hvery, and so to 
manumit. Readers will notice a slight contradiction in the 
manner of treating servants in this paper as compared with the 
paper just before. That was written by Addison, this by Steele, 
and they did not greatly trouble themselves with that foolish 
consistency which Emerson says is a hobgoblin of little minds. 



VIII.— WILL WIMBLE 

29, 20 — Wimble. Wimble as a noun means gimlet, as an 
adjective, active, eager. Some editors ingeniously suggest that 
Will Wimble was a small bore, or that he moved about a great 
deal but made little impression. 

29, 26 — jack. A pickerel or pike. 

30, 6 — Eton. A famous college, or boarding-school for boys, 
on the Thames, just opposite Windsor Castle. It was there 
that the Duke of Wellington was trained. He is said to have 
declared that the battle of Waterloo was won on the foot-ball 
field at Eton. 

30, 13 — younger brother. In England the oldest son suc- 
ceeds to the title and the estate of his father. This paper is 
a humorous discussion of the problem of the youngest son. 
Steele, in The Tatler, No. 256, had already attempted the same 
problem in his sketch of Mr. Thomas Gules of Gules Hall. *'He 
was the cadet of a very ancient family; and according to the 
principles of all younger brothers of the said family, he had 
never sullied himself with business; but had chosen rather to 
starve like a man of honor than do anything beneath his qual- 
ity. He produced several witnesses that he had never employed 
himself beyond the twisting of a whip, or the making of a pair 
of nut-crackers, in which he only worked for his diversion, in 
order to make a present now and then to his friends." 

30, 20 — may-fly. An artificial fly for fishing. 

30, 24 — tulip-root. The culture of tulips had been a great 
craze in Holland and England for many years, so much so that 
a single bulb had sometimes fetched several hundred pounds. 
In The Tatler, No. 218, Addison tells of a servant who mistook 



154 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

some tulip bulbs for onions, "and by that means made a dish 
of pottage that cost above a thousand pounds sterling." 
Readers of Irving's Oliver Goldsmith will remember that Oliver 
nearly beggared himself when in Holland by purchasing some 
tulip bulbs to send to his uncle Contarine. 

31, 26 — quail-pipe. A whistle used by hunters to imitate 
the note of quails, and so allure them within shooting distance. 

32, 18 — twenty-first speculation. In The Spectator, No. 21, 
Addison discusses with great good-humor the overcrowding of 
the three learned professions, "divinity, law, and physic." 



IX.— THE COVERLEY ANCESTRY 

32, 19 — gallery. The portrait gallery of Coverley Hall, the 
walls of which were covered with pictures of former members 
of the family. 

33, 10 — Harry the Seventh. King Henry VII, who ruled 
England in 1485-1509. It was during his reign that the Cabots 
discovered North America, and laid the foundation for the 
English settlements on this continent. 

33, 11 — yeomen of the guard. The personal body-guard of 
the sovereigns of England, numbering one hundred, and popu- 
larly known as "beefeaters." They still keep their antique 
uniforms. 

33, 17 — Tilt Yard. A field where jousts or tournaments were 
held in the days of chivalry. It was just behind the present 
Horse Guards building, occupied now by the parade ground of 
St. James's Park. 

33, 30 — coffee-house. Jenny Mern's; the site is now occu- 
pied by the Paymaster-General's office. 

33, 38 — petticoat. The absurdities of women's attire have 
always been fruitful themes of satirical comment. In The 
Spectator, No. 127, Addison has a serio-comic account of the 
enormous petticoats of his time. He says that some men look 
upon them as prodigies foretelling the downfall of the French 
king, just as farthingales came in just before the fall of the 
Spanish monarchy! 

34, 7 — white-pot. A famous Devonshire dish, made of 
cream, sugar, rice, and cinnamon. 

34, 20 — slashes. The cuts in the full trousers showing cloth 
of a different color beneath. 



NOTES 155 

35, 34 — battle of Worcester. One of the decisive battles of 
the great civil war between the Roundheads and the Cavaliers. 
It was fought between Cromwell and the Scotch, who were at- 
tempting to put Charles II on the throne, September 3, 1651. 
Worcester was the county-town of Worcestershire, not far, of 
course, from Coverley Hall. 



X.— THE COVERLEY GHOST 

36, 2 — abbey. An abbey, in the old monastic days, was the 
church of an abbot, who was at the head of a monastery. 

36, 8 — language of the Psalms. " He giveth to the beast his 
food, and to the young ravens which cry." — Psalms cxlvii, 9. 

37, 10 — Mr. Locke. John Locke published his Essay on the 
Human Understanding in 1690. The chapter here referred to 
is XXXII in Book ii 

38, 12 — appearance of spirits. Addison seems to have shared 
with most of his contemporaries in a partial belief in the ap- 
pearance of spirits. 

38, 18 — Lucretius. A Roman poet and philosopher whose 
most famous work, De Rerum Natura {Concerning the Nature 
of Things), is here quoted. The passage alluded to is in iv, 34. 

38, 33 — Josephus. Josephus (37-95) was the most famous 
extra-biblical historian of the Jews. His work is especially 
valuable as filling in the period between the Old and New 
Testaments, and in giving an account of the siege and destruc- 
tion of Jerusalem by the Romans in A, D. 66. 

39, 18 — those kings. Josephus had been speaking of Arche- 
laus. King of Cappadocia, Herod the Great, King of Judea, 
Juba, King of Libya, and some others. 



XL— A COUNTRY SUNDAY 

40, 22 — common-prayer-book. The prayer-book of the 
Church of England, adopted just after the Reformation. The 
prayer-book of the Protestant Episcopal Church in America is 
nearly like it. It is the book of common prayer, because it is 
for all the people. Many of the prayers are of great antiquity, 
and their phraseology has entered largely into English litera- 
ture. 



156 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

40, 25 — Psalms. The version of the Psalms used in the 
prayer-book is that of the Bishop's Bible, 1568. In the Eng- 
lish church service many of these are chanted by the people. 

40, 36, — Singing Psalms. The metrical version of the Psalms 
eung in church; their place is now taken by hymns. 

41, 11 — polite. This word originally meant one who lived 
in a city. Here, of course, it means sophisticated 

41, 28 — clerk. The clerk is a layman who occupies a seat 
just below the pulpit, leads in the responses, and gives out the 
notices. 

42, 1 — tithe-stealers. A tithe or tenth was originally the 
tenth of the increase of the flocks and the land, which accord- 
ing to the law of Israel was given to the Lord. In England 
the church claimed her tithe, but this has now been commuted 
into rent charges. (See Leviticus, xxxvii, 30.) 



XII.— SIR ROGER IN LOVE 

42, 26 — perverse widow. Both Addison and Steele had 
dealings with widows who were more or less perverse, but it 
is not likely that they would put their pictures in The Spectator. 

43, 2 — bv. Because of. 

43, 25 — sheriff. The English dignify the head executive 
officer of a county more than the Americans do. 

43, 34 — assizes. The regular sessions of the county court 
for which the sheriff must prepare 

44, 5 — murrain. Strictly this is a disease which attacks 
fiheep, but here, of course, it is a mild swear word. 

45, 15— desperate scholar. If we may identify Leonora with 
the perverse widow, we have seen already how " desperate " 
her scholarship must have been. 

46, 3 — Sphinx. Juno sent the Sphinx to devastate the coun- 
try of the Thebans until some one should answer her riddle, 
^* What animal goes on four feet in the morning, two at noon, 
and three at night? " (Edipus answered the riddle, " posed " 
the Sphinx, and saved his countryman by saying, "Man," for 
man goes on all-fours in infancy, walks erect in middle life, but 
in old age has recourse to a cane. 

46, 10 — tucker. A piece of muslin or lace, worn with low- 
necked dresses to cover the neck and bosom. 



NOTES 157 

46, 14 — tansy. A sort of custard. A Closet of Rarities, 1706, 
gives this recipe for preparing it: "Take about a dozen new- 
laid eggs, beat them up with three pints of cream, strain them 
through a coarse hnen cloth, and put in of the strained juices 
of endive, spinach, sorrel, and tansy, each three spoonfuls; half 
a grated nutmeg, four ounces of fine sugar, and a little salt and 
rose-water. Put it with a slight laying of butter under it into 
a shallow pewter dish, and bake it in a moderately heated oven. 
Scrape over it loaf sugar, sprinkle rose-water, and serve it up." 

46, 28 — Martial. A famous Latin writer of epigrams who 
lived about 43-104. 

46, 29 — " Dum tacet banc loquitur." ''While he is silent he is 
speaking of her." 



XIII.— THE SHAME AND DREAD OF POVERTY 

47, 12 — the glass. The company at Sir Roger's did not differ 
much from other companies in Queen Anne's time. Even Ad- 
dison and Steele were not exempt from the common vice of the 
day. 

47, 24 — dipped. Involved, or mortgaged. 

48, 34 — Laertes and Irus. Classical names were used as we 
should use Smith or Jones. Both these names are from 
Homer's Odyssey, where Laertes is the father of Ulysses and Irus 
is a beggar. 

48, 26 — four shillings in the pound. £6,000 at five per cent 
interest would amount to £300 a year, which, compared with 
Laertes' income of £1,500, is " four shillings in the pound," or 
one-fifth. 

49, 21— Mr. Cowley. Abraham Cowley (1618-1667), a poet, 
essayist, and diplomatist, regarded in his day as a model of 
what a poet should be, but now fallen into neglect. His essays 
are said to be pleasant reading still, as the following extract 
will show: " If I want skill and force to restrain the Beast 
that I ride upon, tho' I bought it and call it my own, yet in the 
truth of the matter I am at that time rather his man than he 
my horse." In this place Steele refers to Cowley's essay, Of 
Greatness, which he closes with a paraphrase of Horace's Ode, 
Book III, 1, beginning: " Odi profanum vulgus et arceo." 
" Great vulgar " is Cowley's translation of " profanum vul- 
gus." 



158 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

49, 24 — author who published his works. Dr. Thomas Sprat, 
Bishop of Rochester, published in 1680 a complete edition of 
Cowley's poems, which he prefaced with a life, still interesting 
reading. 

50, 18 — "If e'er ambition," etc. From Cowley's essay Of 
Greatness. 

XIV.— BODILY EXERCISE 

51, 17 — humors. See 7, 9, n. To ferment the humors 
seems to be to cause their healthy action. 

51, 23 — spirits. The animal spirits which were the seats of 
sensation and will power. 

51, 26 — spleen. Not the organ, but the fretfulness or anger 
which was supposed to have its seat in the spleen. 

51, 28 — vapors. About like the modern " blues," but sup- 
posed to be caused by a sort of fog or vapor rising in the body. 

53, 7 — Dr. Sydenham. Thomas Sydenham (1624-1689), the 
most celebrated physician of London, sometimes called " The 
Enghsh Hippocrates," because, like his namesake in Greece, 
he laid the foundations of medical science in England. 

53, 10 — Medicina Gymnastica. This book with the sub- 
title, A Treatise Concerning the Power of Exercise, by Francis 
Fuller, was published in 1704. 

53, 20 — Latin treatise of exercises. Artis Gymnasticce apvd 
Antiques, by Hieronymus Mercurialis, Venice, 1569. 

XV.— HUNTING WITH SIR ROGER 

This paper is from the hand of Eustace Budgell, Addison's 
brilliant but erratic young friend. The reader will be inter- 
ested to compare his work with Addison's and Steele's, and to 
see whether he develops the character of Sir Roger in a way 
consistent with the work of his older friends. 

54, 6 — Bastile. The famous French prison at Paris, de- 
stroyed in the early part of the Revolution, July 14, 1789. The 
day is still kept as a holiday in France. For a picture of the 
horrors enacted in this pile, see Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities. 
The key of the Bastile was given to Washington by La Fayette, 
and now hangs in the hall at Mount Vernon. 

55, 5 — staked. Impaled himself on a stake while jumping 
a fence. 



NOTES 159 

55, 10 — stop-hounds. Pointers for flushing small game. 

55, 13 — concert. Morley in his edition of The Spectator 
gives this note: " As to dogs, the difference is great between a 
hunt now and a hunt in The Spectator's time. Since the early 
days of the last century, the modern fox-hound has come into 
existence, while the beagle and the deep-flewed southern hare- 
hound, nearly resembling the blood-hound, with its sonorous 
note, has become almost extinct. Absolutely extinct also is 
the old care to attune the voices of the pack. Henry II, in his 
breeding of hounds, is said to have been careful not only that 
they should be fleet, but also well-tongued and consonous; the 
same care in Elizabeth's time is, in the passage quoted by The 
Spectator, attributed by Shakespeare to Duke Theseus; and 
the paper itself shows that care was taken to match the voices 
in a pack in the reign of Queen Anne. This has now been for 
some time absolutely disregarded." 

— nice. A correct use of a much-abused word. 

55, 18 — counter-tenor. A high tenor, between tenor and 
treble. 

55, 21 — Midsummer Night's Dream. Act IV, Sc. 1, 1. 124. 

55, 23 — flewed. Having loose lips. 
—sanded. Marked with tawny spots. 

55, 25 — dew-lapped. The dewlap is the loose skin and tis- 
sue which hang below the neck of an animal. It is especially 
marked in cattle. 

57, 13 — threw down his pole. Huntsmen on foot carried a 
long pole which helped them to leap ditches, to vault fences, 
and to rule the dogs. 

57. 28— Pascal. Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), one of the most 
brilliant Frenchmen of the seventeenth century, was very pre- 
cocious. At sixteen he wrote a Latin treatise on Conic Sec- 
tions, at nineteen he invented a calculating machine, and was 
reckoned one of the greatest geometricians of his age, but this 
unusual development was at the expense of his health. He 
became a member of the community at Port Royal, where he 
started a book in defence of Christianity. This was never fin- 
ished, but after his early death it was published under the title, 
Thoughts of M. Pascal upon Religion, and has been popular 
from that day to this. Budgell quotes from the seventh section 
of this work, which has the sub-title The Misery of Man. 

58, 18— Mr. Dryden. John Dryden (1631-1700) was the 
leading English poet of the latter half of the seventeenth cen- 



160 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

tury. He was a critic of no mean ability, a dramatist, a satirist, 
a lyrist, and a controversialist of no mean power. In his later 
days as an apologist for the Roman Catholic Church he did 
some fine work, though his permanent reputation is likely to 
rest upon his lyrics, such as A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, and 
Alexander's Feast. The lines quoted here are from An Epistle 
to His Kinsman, J. Dryden, Esq., of Chesterton. 



XVI.— MOLL WHITE 

59, 8 — the subject of witchcraft. For several instances of 
the persecution of witches, see Ashton's Social Life in the 
Reign of Queen Anne, Chap. x. Addison seems to have had 
the usual belief of educated men of his time. In Salem, Massa- 
chusetts, the witchcraft craze occurred in 1692, when nineteen 
persons were hanged for witchcraft, and one was pressed to 
death under heavy weights for refusing to plead " Guilty," or 
" Not Guilty." As late as 1716, Mrs. Hicks and her daughter 
were executed in Huntington, England, for selling their souls 
to the devil. The law of James I, punishing witchcraft with 
death, was not repealed until the reign of George II. See 
Shakespeare, Macbeth, for a literary treatment of witchcraft. 

60, 4— Otway. Thomas Otway (1652-1685) wrote the best 
tragedies of the Restoration period, and lived a tragic life him- 
self. The passage here quoted is from The Orphan (1680). 

60, 13 — nothing of a piece. No two things alike, or appro- 
priate in her dress. 

60, 21 — switch. The popular belief was that witches could 
ride on switches and broomsticks. 

60, 27 — take a pin of her. Witches were said to make their 
victims spit pins. 

61, 7 — tabby cat. The devil was supposed to embody him- 
self frequently in a black cat, and so cats always cut a large 
figure in all witchcraft stories. 

61, 23 — trying experiments with her. They would throw 
her into a pond; if she was guilty, she would float, and so be 
worthy of death; if innocent, she would sink, and so would die 
anyway! 

61, 31 — scarce a village . . . that has not a Moll White. 
" When this essay was written, charges were being laid against 
one old woman, Jane Wenham, of Walkerne, a little village 



NOTES 161 

north of Hertford, which led to her trial for witchcraft at assizes 
held in the following year, 1712, when she was found guilty; 
and became memorable as the last person who, in this country, 
was condemned to capital punishment for that impossible 
offence. The judge got first a reprieve, and then a pardon. 
The lawyers had refused to draw up any indictment against the 
poor old creature, except in mockery, for ' conversing familiarly 
with the devil in form of a cat.' But of that ofTence she was 
found guilty upon the testimony of sixteen witnesses, three of 
whom were clergymen. One witness, Anne Thome, testified 
that every night the pins went from her pincushion into her 
mouth. Others gave evidence that they had seen pins come 
jumping through the air into Anne Thome's mouth. Two 
swore that they had heard the prisoner, in the shape of a cat, 
converse with the devil, he being also in form of a cat. Anne 
Thorne swore that she was tormented exceedingly with cats, 
and that all the cats had the face and voice of the witch. 
The vicar of Ardley had tested the poor ignorant creature with 
the Lord's Prayer, and finding she could not repeat it, had ter- 
rified her with his moral tortures into some sort of confession. 
Such things, then, were said and done, and such credulity was 
abetted even by educated men at the time when this essay was 
written. Upon charges like those ridiculed in the text, a 
woman actually was, a few months later, not only committed 
by justices with a less judicious spiritual counsellor than Sir 
Roger's chaplain, but actually found guilty at the assizes, and 
condemned to death." (Morley's Note.) 



XVIL— THE PERVERSE WIDOW 

63, 10 — confidante. The companion, or chaperon of the 
widow, who was always with her, much to Sir Roger's disgust. 

63, 16 — fortune. That is, a young lady possessed of a 
fortune. 

65, 25 — to see them work. The bees in the glass hive. 
Steele is not always careful to provide an antecedent for his 
pronouns. 

— policies of their commonwealth. For an interesting dis- 
cussion of the bees' commonwealth, see The Bee^ by Maurice 
Maeterlinck. 



162 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



XVIIL— MANNERS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 

66, 2 — changes the city for the country. "A journey any 
little distance from home was a serious undertaking, so serious, 
indeed, that it often meant the inditing of a last will and testa- 
ment before it was undertaken. Bad as the roads were in the 
summer time, when clouds of dust blinded the traveller in 
every direction, infinitely worse were they at such times as the 
waters were out or after a heavy fall of rain, when the chances 
were that the wayfarers, after crawling along at a pace of two 
or three miles an hour in constant fear of sticking fast in a quag- 
mire, had to brave the impetuous force of the current of some 
river that had overflowed its banks, the strong barely escaping 
with their lives, the weak often perishing in the stream." 
(Sydney, England and the English in the Eighteenth Century^ 
11,5.) 

66, 16 — modish. In the mode or fashion. 

67, 16 — adjust the ceremonial. Decide on the relative im- 
portance of each guest, and assign him a seat in accordance 
with his rank. 

68, 6 — polished in France. The French court during the 
long reign of Louis XIV was notably corrupt, under an ex- 
ceedingly polished exterior. 

68, 23 — Revolution. In 1689, twenty years before, when 
William and Mary succeeded to the throne of England after 
the forced abdication of James II. 

68, 24 — red coats and laced hats. That is, in the style of 
twenty years before when men wore colored coats and put 
gold lace on their hats. In 1711 tastes had become more quiet, 
for soberer hues prevailed in coats, and hats had become black, 
but with wide brims which could be cocked in various ways. 

68, 25 — height of their head-dresses. Addison is himself a 
most amusing commentator on women's hats. In The Spec- 
tator, No. 98, he says: 

There is not so variable a thing in nature as a lady's_ head-dress. 
Within my own memory I have known it rise and fall above thirty degrees. 
About thirty years ago it shot up to a very great height, insomuch that 
the female part of our species were much taller than the men. The women 
were of such an enormous stature that we appeared as grasshoppers 
before them. At present the whole sex is in a manner dwarfed and shrunk 
into a race of beauties that seems almost another species. I remember 
several ladies who were once very near seven foot nigh, that at present 
want some inches of five. . . . One may observe that women in all ages 



NOTES 163 

have taken more pains than men to adorn the outside of their heads; 
and, indeed, I very much admire that those female architects who raise 
such wonderful structures out of ribbands, lace, and wire, have not been 
recorded for their respective inventions. It is certain there has been as 
many orders in these kinds of building as in those which have been made 
of marble; sometimes they rise in the shape of a pyramid, sometimes like 
a tower, and sometimes like a steeple. 

68, 27 — western circuit. The judges in holding various 
terms of court made circuits about the country, accompanied 
by a large number of lawyers, spectators, and subordinate 
officials. 

XIX.— SIR ROGER'S POULTRY 

69, 14 — arguments for Providence. Arguments, that is, for 
the existence and goodness of God. 

71, 7 — wiser than the sons of men. A reminiscence of Luke 
xvi, 8, " For the children of this world are in their generation 
wiser than the children of light." 

72, 13 — gravitation. Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727) is gen- 
erally supposed to have worked out the theory of gravitation 
from the thoughts started at seeing the fall of an apple in his 
garden. His theory was different from Addison's in that he 
thought that all things attracted each other in proportion to 
their weight. 



XX.— THE SPECTATOR'S PLEASANT DAY 

73, 13 — just within the Game Act. See 8, 11, n. 

73, 18 — shoots flying. As a true sportsman should. 

73, 19 — petty jury. So called to distinguish it from the 
grand jury. The petty jury of twelve men determine cases, 
civil or criminal, which are tried before them. The grand jury 
of twenty-four men have as their function the decision whether 
the evidence against criminals is sufficient to hold them for 
trial by a petty jury. 

73, 28 — cast and been cast. Won or lost, the imphcation 
being that it is almost as expensive to win a lawsuit as it is to 
lose one. 

75, 2 — sign-post. English inns still hang out sign-posts 
containing pictorial representations of their names, as The 
Cheshire Cheese (London), The Turk's Head (London), or The 
Three Swans (Salisbury). Shops often did the same. The 



164 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

public was invited to buy scissors at the sign of the Green 
Dragon. These pictorial signs were especially valuable in a 
time when many people could not read 

75, 14 — Saracen's Head. " When our countrymen came 
home from fighting with the Saracens, and were beaten by 
them, they pictured them with huge, big, terrible faces (as you 
still see the sign of the Saracen's head is), when, in truth, they 
were like other men. But this they did to save their own 
credit." (Selden, Table Talk.) 



XXL— THE TRAINING OF AN HEIR 

77, 7 — novel. A short story or fictitious tale, named from 
the Italian novelle, of which it was at first a translation. It 
was usually a love tale. The novel as we understand it, had 
not yet come in England. In 1740 Samuel Richardson pub- 
lished Pamela, and thus began the long, brilliant career of the 
English novel. 

77, 22 — Gazette. The official paper of the government in 
which were published such foreign despatches and official com- 
munications as it was thought best to print. Steele was 
gazetteer from May, 1707, to October, 1710. 

77, 29 — Mr. Cowley. See 49, 21, n. In his essay on The 
Danger of Procrastination, Mr. Cowley says, " There is no fool- 
ing with life when it is once turned beyond forty. The seeking 
of a fortune then is but a desperate after-game." 

78, 26 — dictated. Influenced. 

79, 7 — constitution. The British Constitution is not a defi- 
nite, unchanging, written document like our own, but a series 
of acts, bills, precedents, and tendencies which have grown 
up in the course of years and years. 

80, 21 — L. On the day this paper was pubhshed, Addison 
wrote the following letter to Mr. Edward Wortley Montagu: 

Dear Sir — Being very well pleased with this day's Spectator, I cannot 
forbear sending you one of them, and desiring your opinion of the story 
in it. When you have a son I shall be glad to be his Leontine, as my cir- 
cumstances will probably be like his. I have within this twelvemonth 
lost a place of £2000 per annum, an estate in the Indies of £14000, and 
what is worse than all the rest, my mistress. Hear this and wonder at 
my philosophy. I find they are going to take away my Irish place from 
me too; to which I must add that I have just resigned my fellowship and 
that stocks sink every day. If you have any hints or subjects, pray send 
me up a paper full. I long to talk an evening with you. I believe I shall 



NOTES 165 

not go for Ireland this summer, and perhaps would pass a month with you, 
if I knew where. Lady Bellasis is very much your humble servant. Dick 
Steele and I often remember you. 

I am, dear sir, yours eternally, 
July 21, 1711. Joseph Addison. 



XXIL— ON PARTY SPIRIT 

80, 24 — Roundheads and Cavaliers. The names given in 
Charles I's time to the followers of Parliament and of the king. 
The Parliament men cut their hair as men do to-day, and 
hence their name. Cavaliers derived their name from the 
French chevaliers, horsemen, or knights, and let their hair grow 
long. 

80, 26 — St. Anne's Lane. There is a St. Anne's Lane in 
Westminster, near the Abbey. It is named from a church in 
the vicinity, which, in turn, is named from St. Anne, the mother 
of the Virgin Mary. 

81, 2 — popish. An impolite way of saying Roman Catholic. 
81, 4 — prick-eared cur. Puritans laid themselves open to 

such epithets as this by cutting their hair and exposing their 
ears. 

81, 12 — mischief that parties do. Party spirit raged fiercely 
in England in 1711. The Whigs and Tories hated each other 
with a hatred which this paper does not exaggerate at all. 
Sir Roger thinks that the Whigs, by keeping up the war, raise 
the land tax, but how they destroy game it is hard to see. 

81, 34 — Plutarch. A Greek biographer and moralist of the 
first century of this era. He is best known for his lAves, but 
the quotation in the text is from the moral essay, How One 
Shall be Helped by Enemies. 

82, 4 — that great rule. Spoken by Jesus: " Love your 
enemies." (Luke vi, 27.) 

82, 21 — different mediums. For example, air and water. 
The familiar example of the stick appearing bent as it passes 
from air to water is here referred to. 

82, 34 — sophistry. A piece of false reasoning, based on ap- 
parently good premises. 

83, 1 — postulatums. Things taken for granted at the be- 
ginning of an argument. 

83, 11 — Guelphs and Ghibellines. There was civil strife in 
Italy from 1250 to 1600 between those who upheld the civil 



166 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

power of the Pope (the Guelphs), and those who favored the 
Roman or German Emperor (the GhibeUines). The names 
are derived from two Itahan famihes. 

83, 12 — the League. The Holy CathoHc League, formed in 
1546 to resist the spread of Protestantism, and to keep Henry 
IV from the throne. 



XXIIL— PARTY PREJUDICE 

85, 14 — Diodorus Siculus. Diodorus the Sicihan (Siculus), 
was a Greek historian of the first century. He wrote Biblio- 
theccB Historicoe (Historical Libraries) which discusses the 
ichneumon in Book i, 25. 

85, 26 — Tartars. Members of the wild tribes of Central 
Asia who have long been thorns in the side of European and 
Asiatic civilizations. See De Quincey's The Flight of a Tartar 
Tribe. 

85, 35 — party reigns more in the country. Here speaks Ad- 
dison the Whig, for the country was overwhelmingly Tory. 

87, 13 — fanatic. A touch like this shows the violence of 
party spirit in the country. A Whig is a fanatic, forsooth 1 



XXIV.— GYPSIES 

87, 24 — gypsies. The name is a corruption of Egyptians, 
because of their supposed origin in Egypt. Scholars now think 
they are of Asiatic descent, and that they came into Europe by 
way of Epirus or Little Egypt. Their religion is a curious mix- 
ture of heathen and Christian elements, with a belief in spirits 
and magic. 

88, 29 — Cassandra. The daughter of Priam, King of Troy, 
was endowed by Apollo with the gift of prophecy, but he after- 
ward qualified his gift by decreeing that she should not be 
believed. So the term as applied to the gypsy girl is scarcely 
appropriate. 

88, 30 — lines. The lines or wrinkles in the palm of the hand 
which are supposed by palmists to reveal the fortune. The 
long diagonal line from the base of the forefinger around the 
root of the thumb is called the line of life. 



NOTES 167 



XXV.— REASONS FOR LEAVING THE COUNTRY 

91, 16 — started. The metaphors here are taken from the 
chase. Note " started," " spring," " put up," " foil the scent," 
as if the subjects of the various papers by Mr. Spectator were 
birds or game. 

91, 25 — cities of London and Westminster. In England the 
word " city " is confined to those places which are the seats of 
bishops of the Church of England, and so have cathedrals. In 
the middle of the sixteenth century Westminster was a city, 
and the Abbey became a cathedral. When it ceased to have 
a bishop, Westminster did not resign its privileges. The two 
cities are now one, but in Addison's time they were less closely 
joined, the boundary coming at Temple Bar where the Strand 
and Fleet Street meet. 

92, 14 — " White Witch." "According to popular belief, there 
were three classes of witches — white, black, and gray. The 
first helped, but could not hurt; the second the reverse; and 
the third did both. White spirits caused stolen goods to be 
restored; they charmed away diseases, and did other beneficent 
acts; neither did a little harmless mischief lie wholly out of 
their way. Dryden says: 

'"At least as little honest as he could. 

And like white witches mischievously good.' " 

— W. H. Wills. 

92, 17 — Jesuit. A member of the Roman Catholic Society 
of Jesus. A Jesuit would be suspected of plotting to bring 
the son of James II to the English throne. 

92, 22 — converses. Literally, turns aroimd, and so, asso- 
ciates. 

93, 22 — stories of a cock and a bull. We are more familiar 
with the modern version " a cock and bull story." The ex- 
pression is very old, and means an absurd story which is 
unbelievable. 

93, 29 — commonwealth's men. That is, men who have in- 
herited the beliefs of Cromwell and the men of the Puritan 
Commonwealth, whose successors the Whigs were supposed 
to be. 



168 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



XXVI.— THE SPECTATOR'S RETURN TO LONDON 

94, 5 — the stage-coach. "By 1710 coaches ran regularly 
between London and most larger towns in England. The best 
were called 'flying coaches,' drawn by six horses, and some- 
times made eighty miles a day. They did not run at night. 
The fare was about threepence the mile." (Winchester.) 

94, 8 — Blrs. The abbreviation for mistress applied formerly 
to both single and married women. 

94, 12 — Ephraim. The common name for a Friend, or 
Quaker, because of Psalm Ixxviii, 9: " The children of Ephraim, 
being armed, and carrying bows, turned back in the day of 
battle." Quakers hold that it is contrary to the fundamental 
law of Christianity to fight. These were called Quakers, be- 
cause under the preaching of George Fox, their founder, they 
quaked or trembled. The name was given in derision, and is 
not used by the Friends themselves. 

94, 22 — half -pike. A short pointed spear carried by an in- 
fantryman, now superseded by the bayonet. 

96, 15 — smoky. Suspicious 

96, 25 — taking place. In the narrow roads coachmen often 
got into disputes over the right of way. The rule of the road 
is here laid down by Steele. 

XXVII.— A DEBATE BETWEEN SIR ROGER AND SIR 

ANDREW 

97, 19 — Roman fable. The fable of the Belly and the Mem- 
bers is told by Livy, Book ii. Chap, xxxii, and repeated by 
Shakespeare in Coriolanus, I, i, 99 seq. 

97, 22 — landed and trading interests. The landed proprietors 
were almost to a man Tories, while the traders were Whigs. 

98, 3 — Carthaginian faith. Punica fides was a proverb 
among the Romans because of the frequent breach of faith on 
the part of the Carthaginians. 

98, 27 — civil and military lists. The civil lists were made up 
of men who served the government in civil positions like the 
treasury or the post-office. The military lists is self-explaining. 

98, 33 — the way. The right of way. 

99, 24 — to break. To fail in business. 



NOTES 169 

100, 12 — custom. The tariff duties. 

100, 16 — throws down, etc. The Tory hunters often did 
these very things in their hunting, and the aggrieved farmers 
had no redress. Corn in England includes wheat, oats, rye, and 
barley, but not Indian-corn or maize. 



XXVIIL— SIR ROGER IN LONDON 

101, 26 — Prince Eugene. Prince Eugene of Savoy was, next 
to the Duke of Marlborough, the principal general of the allies 
in the war of the Spanish Succession. His visit to England at 
this time was to urge the continuation of the war, and the 
restoration to command of the Duke of Marlborough, but he 
was not successful. While on this visit he acted as godfather 
at the baptism of Steele's second son, 

102, 5 — Scanderbeg. This is the popular form of the name 
of Iskander Bey, an Albanian who won many victories over the 
Turks in 1461. He lived from 1407 to 1461, and was a popular 
hero. 

102, 24 — marks. A mark was not a coin but a certain 
amount of money, thirteen shillings, fourpence, or about $3.33. 

102, 28 — tobacco-stopper. A small implement of wood or 
bone for pushing down the tobacco in the bowl of a pipe. 

102, 31 — good principles. To Will Wimble a man of good 
principles was a Tory. 

103, 9 — hog's puddings. Sausages. 

103, 22 — smutting. A game much in vogue which consisted 
in making an innocent man blacken his own face. 

103, 27— Act of Parliament. The Test Act of 1673 provided 
that in order to qualify for any civil office the candidate must 
be a communicant of the Church of England. This shut out 
Dissenters and Roman Catholics from pubhc office, but some 
Dissenters were perfectly willing to take the communion occa- 
sionally in an English church if they might thus qualify them- 
selves for office. The act mentioned by Sir Roger was the 
Act to repress Occasional Conformity, passed by the Tories in 
1710, immediately upon their accession to power, 

104, 1 — Pope's Procession. On November 17, the anniversary 
of the accession of Queen Elizabeth, it was long the custom to 
have a mock procession in which the Pope and Roman Catholic 
ceremonies were burlesqued. In 1711 the Whigs had planned 



170 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

an especially elaborate and offensive procession, but it was 
suppressed by the government, after some rioting. 

104, 10— Baker's Chronicle. Sir Richard Baker (1568-1645) 
an English historian, educated at Oxford, wrote, in 1643, a 
dull and spiritless Chronicle of the Kings of England, which 
nevertheless enjoyed great popularity. See Papers V and 
XXIX in this book. 

104, 16 — Squire's. A coffee-house near Gray's Inn, especially 
popular with the lawyers of that society. 

104, 22 — Supplement. A newspaper of the period, which 
appeared three times a week. 



XXIX.— SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

105, 2 — paper on Westminster Abbey. No. 26 of The Spec- 
tator. 

105, 15 — Widow Trueby's water. One of the quack medi- 
cines then popular, which, like those of our own day, consisted 
largely of alcohol. Addison gives an account of some quack 
nostrums of the day in The Taller, No. 224. 

105, 28 — the sickness being at Dantzic. Dantzic was visited 
by the plague in 1709. This was a virulent epidemic, now 
identified as the bubonic plague, which slew its thousands, but 
which has now nearly yielded to improved sanitation and 
methods of living. 

106, 2 — hackney-coach. A coach drawn by a hackney or 
horse, for hire in the streets. These vehicles had been intro- 
duced during the preceding fifty years, and had become numer- 
ous. The drivers were a pugnacious set, frequently engaging 
in brawls. This may account for Sir Roger's preference for 
an elderly coachman. Because the hackney-coaches were for 
common use, the adjective hackneyed has come to mean com- 
mon or trite. 

106, 29— Sir Cloudesley Shovel. Shovel (1650-1707) was a 
famous English admiral, the hero of many engagements. He 
commanded at the battle of La Hogue, 1692, and captured 
Barcelona in Spain. On his way home he was shipwrecked on 
the Scilly Isles. He escaped only to be murdered by a savage 
woman, but his body was recovered and buried in the Abbey 
imder a monument which Addison criticised in The Spectator^ 
No. 26. 



NOTES 171 

106, 31— Busby. Richard Busby (1606-1695) was for fifty- 
five years headmaster of Westminster school. He was a great 
believer in the rod. When Charles II visited his school Busby 
kept on his hat because it would never do for his boys to 
imagine that he was inferior to any one I 

106, 35 — chapel on the right hand. St. Edmuiid's, in the 
south aisle of the choir. 

106, 38 — the lord who had cut off the King of Morocco's 
head. Sir Bernard Brocas, who was beheaded on Tower Hill 
in 1400, was said to have performed this feat, but the story is 
probably legendary. 

107, 2— Cecil. William Cecil, Lord Burleigh (1520-1598), 
one of Queen Elizabeth's principal ministers, practically guid- 
ing the destinies of England from 1558 to his death. He was 
buried in Westminster Abbey, where his effigy is represented 
on his knees at the tomb of his wife and daughter. 

107, 4 — martyr to good housewifery. This sounds like a 
guide's invention, but the story was formerly told of Lady 
Elizabeth Russell, whose tomb is in St. Edmund's chapel. 

107, 10 — coronation chairs. These stand in the chapel of 
Edward the Confessor. The older one has in its seat the famous 
Stone of Scone. Every sovereign of England since Edward I 
has been crowned sitting in this chair. The second chair was 
built for Queen Mary when she was crowned joint sovereign 
with King William III in 1689. 

107, 11 — Stone. The Stone of Scone, or the Stone of 
Destiny, was formerly in the Abbey of Scone, in Perthshire, 
Scotland, and on it all the kings of Scotland were crowned, 
until Edward I carried it to London in 1296. Tradition says 
it was the stone which Jacob used for a pillow at Bethel when 
he had the vision of the ladder of angels. Then Moses used it 
for the lid of the Ark of the Covenant, and it was in the Temple 
of Jerusalem until it was carried away to Babylon by Nebuchad- 
nezzar. Then it appeared in Scotland in some unexplained 
way. Unfortunately the geologists say it is a kind of rock very 
abundant in northern Scotland, but not found in Palestine. 

107, 17 — forfeit. A fee to the guide for the privilege of 
sitting in the chair. 

107, 18 — trepanned. Ensnared. 

107, 23 — Edward the Third's sword. The enormous sword 
of the king who conquered France stands just behind the coro- 
nation chairs. It seems to have been made for a giant. 



172 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

107, 25 — Black Prince. The son of Edward III who would 
have succeeded his father if he had lived, but he died in 1376 
while still Prince of Wales. He is buried in Canterbury cathe- 
dral. 

107, 28 — Edward the Confessor. He was King of England 
from 1042 to 1066. 

107, 29 — touched for the evil. Scrofula was called king's 
evil because the royal touch was supposed to cure it. In 
Macbeth, Act IV, Sc. 3, Shakespeare gives an account of the 
ceremony, and the Enghsh Book of Common Prayer until 1719 
included a ritual for it. Queen Anne was the last to practise 
the rite. Samuel Johnson remembered being touched by her, 
but her hand had evidently lost its cunning, for Johnson was 
scrofulous all his life. 

107, 34 — one of our English kings without an head. The 
effigy on the tomb of Henry V had originally a silver head, but 
it was stolen in the reign of Henry VIII, when the monasteries 
were seized by the crown. 

108, 14 — Norfolk Buildings. Addison has forgotten that in 
The Spectator, No. 2, Steele gave Sir Roger a town house in 
Soho Square. 



XXX.— SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY 

108, 17 — the new tragedy. Addison here puffs the work of 
his friend, Ambrose Phillips, who had recently translated and 
adapted Racine's Andromaque, under the title The Distressed 
Mother. 

108, 20 — Committee. Sir Robert Howard, brother-in-law 
to Dryden, wrote The Committee, or the Faithful Irishman, a 
play which ridiculed the Puritans and exalted the king's party, 
and so was a " good Church of England comedy." 

108, 27 — Mohocks. A company of young ruffians in London, 
named for the ferocious tribe of North American Indians 
(usually spelled Mohawks), who infested the streets at night, 
and hazed belated travellers. They rolled old women in barrels 
down Holborn Hill, cut the faces of maids, and made themselves 
BO generally obnoxious that a week before this paper was 
printed the Queen had issued a proclamation against them. 
(See Introduction, p. xxxi, and Ashton's Social Life in the 
Reign of Queen Anne, Chap, xxxvi.) 



NOTES 173 

109. 19 — four o'clock. The theatres usually began at six. 

109, 25 — battle of Steenkirk. This was fought between the 
English and French, August 3, 1692. The English were de- 
feated. The French did not have time to dress carefully before 
the battle, and many wore their neckties loose and flowing. 
The English supposed this was the latest Parisian fashion, and 
copied it, calling these loose ties Steenkirks. 

109, 27 — plants. Clubs or cudgels. 

109, 33 — pit. The main floor of the theatre, usually called 
the orchestra in America. 

110, 3 — Pyrrhus. The hero of the play and the son of 
Achilles. Andromache, the distressed mother, is his captive. 
To win the throne of Troy for her son, Astyanax, Andromache 
consents to marry Pyrrhus, but Hermione, a former lover, 
conspires with Orestes to slay Pyrrhus. Hermione commits 
suicide, and Orestes goes mad. 

110, 4 — the King of France. Louis XIV, who was really a 
small man, but contrived through the art of the tailor and the 
hair-dresser to pose as a large man. 

111, 23 — dramatic rules. Perhaps Addison meant the three 
unities, as they are called, — time, place, and action. A play 
should take no longer to act than the events would demand in 
real life; it should not be transferred to places which the actors 
could not really reach in the time set, and every part of the 
action should have its cause and reason. The unities of time 
and place have never been the rule of the romantic drama. 



XXXI.— SIR ROGER AT SPRING GARDEN 

112, 8 — Spring Garden. This was a pleasure resort on the 
south side of the Thames not far from Lambeth Palace, the 
home of the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was opened about 
1660 and continued until 1859. Other names for it were 
Vauxhall and Fox-Hall. There was a garden laid out with 
intricate walks in which it was easy to lose oneself, a small 
lake, refreshment booths, and a large rotunda for music. 
While the place was popular it was not always very respectable, 
as this paper shows. The favorite way of reaching the garden 
was by boat on the Thames. 

112, 17 — Temple Stairs. A boat-landing on the Thames near 
the Temple. 



174 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

113, 4 — La Hogue. A naval battle on May 10, 1692, in 
which the French were defeated by the combined fleets of the 
Dutch and the English. Sir Cloudesley Shovel won fame in 
this engagement. 

113, 17 — Temple Bar. An ancient gateway in the wall 
which formerly surrounded London. The city grew beyond 
the walls long ago, but Temple Bar remained until 1878, when 
it was removed to make way for the increased traffic. An ugly 
monument to mark the spot takes up nearly as much room as 
the Bar did formerly. 

113, 19 — fifty new churches. London grew faster than its 
church privileges. To catch up with the population, and to 
satisfy those who thought that the Church was in danger, 
Parliament, in 1711, voted to build fifty new churches. By 
the strange changes of time, many of these churches are now 
practically unused because of the shifting of population. 

113, 35 — put. Pronounced put. A term of reproach. 

114, 7 — Mahometan paradise. Because there were so many 
pretty black-eyed girls there. 

114, 16 — mask. A woman in a mask. 

114, 30 — member of the quorum. A justice of the peace. 
See 8, 9, n. 

XXXIL— DEATH OF SIR ROGER 

Although Addison did not originate the character of Sir 
Roger, he had most to do with developing it, and so when the 
time arrived for drawing The Spectator to a close it was Addi- 
son who " killed him off." Budgell says: " Mr. Addison was 
so fond of this character that a little while before he laid down 
The Spectator (foreseeing that some nimble gentleman would 
catch up his pen the moment he quitted it), he said to an inti- 
mate friend, with a certain warmth in his expression which he 
was not often guilty of: ' By G — , I'll kill Sir Roger, that nobody 
else may murder him.' Accordingly the whole Spectator, No. 
517, consists of nothing else but an account of the old knight's 
death, and some moving circumstances which attended it." 

116, 35 — quorum. The justices of the peace for the county. 

117, 25 — Act of Uniformity. This law, passed in 1662, 
compelled all public worship in England to be in accordance 
with the prayer-book of the Church of England, and disallowed 



NOTES 175 

the validity of any clerical rank except that conferred by the 
bishops of the English church. Over two thousand ministers, 
accordingly, left the Church of England, and, joining the Dis- 
senters, made such a powerful body that they were able by 
1689 to secure the Toleration Act, which was a long step in the 
direction of the religious liberty which prevails in England 
to-day. 

117, 32 — rings and mourning. It was the custom for men 
in their wills to provide that mourning rings, gloves, and 
hat-bands should be given to all the friends who attended 
their funerals. Sometimes this mourning was of great value. 
Ashton tells of one funeral at which over two hundred rings 
were distributed. 

The foregoing papers are not the only ones which contain 
references to Sir Roger, but they are the most noteworthy in 
which the old knight appears. Others where some reference 
is made to him are 100, 127, 137, 141, 221, 251 (XXXV of this 
book), 271, 295, 331, 338, 410, 424, 435, 518, and 544. The 
Spectator Club gradually melts away, for after Sir Roger dies, 
Will Honeycomb marries, the Templar gives his attention to 
the law, the clergyman dies. Captain Sentry enters upon his life 
at Coverley Hall, and Sir Andrew Freeport retires. 

It has been thought advisable to add a few papers of general 
interest as showing The Spectator at its best, in the hope that 
the student may be led to browse more widely in the pleasant 
pastures which the papers as a whole afford. 

XXXIII.— REFLECTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

The motto has been abbreviated in this edition, and the 
translation of the part selected is from the fine hymn of Bishop 
Coxe, of western New York, beginning " In the silent midnight 
watches." 

118, 7 — cloisters. Covered walks or passages, usually near a 
monastery, where the monks could take exercise in rainy weather. 

118, 21 — the path of an arrow. The allusion is to the apoc- 
ryphal book Wisdom of Solomon v, 12-13: "Or like as when an 
arrow is shot at a mark . . . even so are we." 

119, 3 — prebendaries. Clergymen attached to cathedrals or 
collegiate churches who enjoy a prebend, or salary, from the 
funds of the church. 



176 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 

119, 23 — Blenheim. The village in Bavaria where, on Au- 
gust 13, 1704, the great battle between the English with their 
allies and the French was fought. 

119, 31 — Sir Cloudesley Shovel. See note, p. 106, 29, n. 



XXXIV.— THE ROYAL EXCHANGE 

121, 2 — Royal Exchange. See 5, 12, n. 

121, 16 — Great Mogul. A variant of the word Mongol. 
The title. Great Mogul, was usually applied to the Emperor of 
Delhi, in India, 

122, 1 — Muscovy. A name for Russia, from Moscow. It 
was at this time that Russia was first coming into prominence 
in European affairs, under the leadership of Peter the Great. 

122, 17 — Coptic. The language of the Copts, the descendants 
of the ancient Egyptians, now almost entirely superseded in 
Egypt by the Arabic. 

— grimace. Not in the bad sense. 

122, 34 — degree. Of latitude. 

123, 4 — tippet. A scarf-like garment for covering the neck, 
usually made of fur. 

123, 11 — hips and haws. The fruits of the rose-bush and 
the hawthorn, respectively. 

123, 14 — sloe. A small, bitter plum, the fruit of the black- 
thorn. 

123, 21 — face of nature. Rather, the mode of living. 

124, 11 — one of our old kings. The statue of Charles II 
stood in the principal hall of the Exchange. 



XXXV.— THE CRIES OF LONDON 

125, 1 — Ramage de la Ville. Warblers of the town. 

125, 12 — crack. A crazy or crack-brained person. Perhaps 
what we should now call a " crank." 

125, 26 — freeman of London. A member of one of the guilds, 
or free companies of London, which have a large part in the 
government of the city. 

125, 31 — liberties. The city limits within which the citizens 
had certain privileges and immunities. 



NOTES 177 

126, 2 — E-la. The highest note in the scale of Guido, hence, 
proverbially, any extravagant saying. Scott uses it in this 
sense in The Abbot, ii, iv, 121. 

126, 7 — gamut. The musical scale, so called from gamma, 
the name of the note lower than A in the classical scale, and ut, 
the first of a series of six notes forming a hexachord, the others 
being re, mi, fa, sol, and la. We have changed ut to do in the 
modern scale, and have added se or te. 

127, 23— Colly-molly-puff. "This little man was but just 
able to support the basket of pastry which he held on his head, 
and sung in a very peculiar tone the cant words which passed 
into his name, Colly-Molly-Puff. There is a half-sheet print 
of them in the set of London Cries, M. Lauron, del., P. Tempest, 
exc." — Granger's Biographical History of England. (Chidley's 
Spectator.) 



XXXVI.— THE TRANSMIGRATIONS OF PUGG THE 

MONKEY 

128, 22 — Sir Paul Rycaut. An Enghsh diplomat who was 
ambassador to Turkey. His dates are 1628-1700. 

129, 1 — captivity in Algiers. The Algerian pirates captured 
and held for ransom or sold as slaves many Europeans. The 
United States had an honorable part in putting an end to the 
practice during the first administration of Jefferson. See 
Longfellow's poem, A Dutch Picture, beginning: 

"Simon Danz has come home again, 

From cruising about with his buccaneers; 
He has singed the beard of the King of Spain, 
And carried away the Dean of Jaen 
And sold him in Algiers." 

129, 31 — Brachman. Or Brahmin, a member of the highest 
caste among the Hindoos. 

129, 32 — Pythagoras. A Greek philosopher of southern Italy 
who probably lived from about 570-500 B. C. His teachings 
are shrouded in obscurity, but he apparently taught the trans- 
migration of souls, the harmony of the spheres, and the orderly 
arrangement of the solar system. 

129, 34 — demon. Spirit. 

131, 8 — Lombard Street. The banking centre of London. 

132, 7 — factory. Trading station. 



178 SELECTIONS FROM THE SPECTATOR 



XXXVIL— THE LOVES OF SHALUM AND HILPA 

132, 23 — a girl of three score and ten. An allusion to the 
great age attained by the patriarchs before the Flood. 

134, 6 — first man. Adam, who, in the Garden of Eden, was 
supposed to be a very skilful horticulturist. 

135, 16 — billet-doux. A French term usually applied to a 
fihort and sweet love letter. 



XXXVIII.— THE SEQUEL OF THE STORY OF 
SHALUM AND HILPA 

136, 23 — tun, A measure for liquids usually equal to four 
hogsheads. 

136, 24 — pot-herbs. Plants, the leaves of which are boiled 
for food, as spinach. 

137, 11 — timbrel. A kind of drum, used to accompany 
singing and dancing. It has been in use since remote ages. 

137, 16 — a whole revolution of Saturn. It takes Saturn 
twenty-nine and one-half years to make a revolution around 
the sun. 

XXXIX.— THE VISION OF MIRZA 

138, 8 — Grand Cairo. An allusion to the journey to Egypt 
described in The Spectator No. 1. 

138, 17 — Bagdat. Bagdad, a city of Asiatic Turkey, on the 
river Tigris, was the scene of many of The Arabian Nights' 
Entertainments. 

139, 35 — a bridge ... in the midst of the tide. The bridge 
did not cross the river but ran parallel with it. 

139, 38 — three score and ten entire arches. See Psalm xc, 10. 

140, 4 — a thousand arches. Before the Flood men lived to 
be nearly one thousand years old, according to the accounts in 
Genesis. So Methuselah's age is given in Genesis v, 27 as nine 
hundred and sixty-nine years. 

— a great flood. See Genesis vi, 3. 
140, 34 — Some with scimitars, etc. Both soldiers and doctors 
are represented as pushing men off the bridge of life. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



abbey, 155 

Act of Uniformity, 174 

adjust the ceremonial, 162 

aggravate, 149 

Algiers, captivity in, 177 

"A penny etc., 147 

arguments for Providence, 163 

Aristotle, 146 

arrow, path of an, 175 

Assizes, 156 

Bagdat, 178 

Baker's Chronicle, 150, 170 

baronet, 145 

Barrow, Isaac, 152 

Bastile, 158 

bees, 161 

billet-doux, 178 

Blackmore, Sir Richard, 148 

Black Prince, 172 

Blenheim, 176 

blots, 144 

Boileau, 149 

Brachman, 177 

break, to, 168 ' 

Brocas, Sir Bernard, 171 

Busby, Richard, 171 

by, 156 

C, 145 

Cairo, Grand, 178 
Calamy, Edward, 152 
Carthaginian faith, 168 
Cassandra, 166 
cast, 163 
Cavaliers, 165 
Cecil, William, 171 
chamber-counsellor, 147 
chapel, St. Edmund's, 171 
chaplain, 152 
china, 149 

churches, fifty new, 174 
circuit, western, 163 
city, 144 
clergyman, 149 
clerk, 156 
cloisters, 175 
cock and bull, 167 
coffee-houses, 144, 154 
Coke, Sir Edward, 146 
Colly-molly-puff, 177 



Committee, The, 172 
common-prayer-book, 155 
commonwealth, 148 

bees', 161 

men, 167 
concert, 159 
confidante, 161 
constitution, 164 
converses, 167 
Coptic, 176 
coral, 143 

coronation chairs, 171 
corruption of manners in servants, 

152 
counter-tenor, 159 
country dance, 145 
Cowley, Abraham, 157, 158, 164 
crack, 176 
custom, 169 

Dawson, Bully, 146 

de Coverley, Sir Roger, 145 

degree, 176 

demon, 177 

Demosthenes, 147 

De Quincey, quoted, 143 

desperate scholar, 156 

dew-lapped, 159 

dictated, 164 

Diodorus Siculus, 166 

dipped, 157 

done with an air, 148 

doublet, 146 

dramatic rules, 173 

dressed, 146 

Dryden, John, 159 

Dum tacet hanc loquitur, 157 

economy, 144 

Edward the Confessor, 172 

E-la, 177 

Ephraim, 168 

equipage, 148 

Etheredge, Sir George, 145 

Eton, 153 

Eugene, Prince, 169 

Exchange, 144, 176 

experiments, 160 

face of nature, 176 
factory, 177 

179 



180 



INDEX TO NOTES 



fagots, 150 
fanatic, 166 
flewed, 159 
folios, 149 
forfeit, 171 
fortune, 161 

four shillings in the pound, 157 
fox-hunters, 149 
France, King of, 173 
polished in, 162 
freeman of London, 176 
Freeport, Sir Andrew, 147 

gallery, 154 

Game Act, 146, 163 

gamut, 177 

Gazette, 164 

glass, the, 157 

Goldsmith's Deserted Village, 152 

gravitation, 163 

Great Mogul, 176 

grimace, 176 

Guelphs and Ghibellines, 165 

gypsies, 166 

habits, 147 
hackney-coach, 170 
half-pike, 168 
Harry the Seventh, 154 
head-dresses, 162 
hips and haws, 176 
hog's puddings, 169 
Horace, 148 
humor, 145, 158 
husband, 152 
in and out, 146 

Inner Temple, 146 

Inns of Court, 146, 149 

Irus, 157 

Irving's Oliver Goldsmith, 145, 153 

jack, 153 

Jesuit, 167 

Josephus, 155 

justice of the quorum, 146 

Juvenal, 149 

king's evil, 172 
kings, one of our old, 176 
those, 155 

L., 164 

Laertes, 157 

La Hogue, 174 

landed and trading interests, 168 

League, the, 166 

liberties, 176 

Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 148 

lines, 166 

lists, civil and military, 168 

Littleton, Sir Thomas, 146 

Locke, John, 150, 155 

Lombard Street, 177 



London, city of, 167 
Longfellow, 177 
Longinus, 146 
Lucretius, 155 

Mahometan paradise, 174 

mandarins, 149 

manumission, 153 

marks, 169 

Martial, 157 

mask, 174 

may-fly, 153 

Medicina Gymnastica, 158 

mediums, different, 165 

Midsummer Night's Dream, 159 

modish, 162 

Mohocks, 172 

Monmouth, Duke of, 147 

monster, 147 

Morley's Spectator, 159, 160 

mottoes, 143 

Mr. Buckley's, in Little Britain, 145 

Mrs., 168 

murrain, 156 

Muscovy, 176 

nice, 159 
nonage, 143 
Norfolk Buildings, 172 
nothing of a piece, 160 
novel, 165 

octavos, 149 
Ogilby's Vergil, 150 
opera, 148 
Otway, Thomas, 160 

pad, 151 

parts, 144 

party spirit, 165, 166 

Pascal, Blaise, 159 

perverse widow, 156 

petticoat, 154 

petty jury, 163 

Fhillips, Ambrose, 172 

pit, 173 

plants, 173 

pleasant, 151 

Plutarch, 165 

pole, 159 

polite, 156 

Pope's Procession, 169 

popish, 165 

Postman, The, 144 

postulatums, 165 

fiot-herbs, 178 
'salms, 155, 156 
Singing, 156 
prebendaries, 175 
prefatory discourses, 143 
prick-eared cur, 165 
principles, good, 169 
privy counsellor, 151 



INDEX TO NOTES 



181 



Punch, 168. 149 
puppet-show, 148 

put, 174 

pyramid, measure of, 144 
Pyrrhus, 173 
Pythagoras, 177 

Quaker, 168 
quail-pipe, 154 
quarter-session, 146 
quartos, 149 

quorum, justice of. 146, 174 
member of, 174 

Ramage de la Ville, 176 
Revolution, 162 
rings and mourning. 174 
Rochester, Lord, 145 
Roman fable, 168 
Roman triumvirate, 149 
Roundheads, 165 
Rycaut, Sir Paul, 177 

St. Anne's Lane, 165 

St. Asaph, Bishop of, 152 

sanded, 159 

Saracen's Head, 164 

Saturn, revolution of, 178 

Saunderson, Robert, 152 

Scanderbeg, 169 

scaramouches, 149 

Scone, Stone of, 171 

sheriff, 156 

shoots flying, 163^ ,„„,„« 

Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, 170, 176 

sickness, the. 170 

sign-post, 163 

slashes, 154 

sloe, 176 

smoky, 168 

smutting, 169 

snuff-box, 149 

Soho Square, 145 

sophistry, 165 

South, Dr. Robert, 152 

Spectator, Mr.. 151 

speculative, 144 

Sphinx, 156 

spirits, 155, 158 

spleen, 158 

Sprat, Dr. Thomas, 158 

Spring Garden, 173 

Squire's, 170 

stage-coach, 168 

staked, 158 



started, 167 
starts, 148 
Steenkirk, 173 
stop-hounds, 159 
switch, 160 

sword, Edward the Third's, 171 
Supplement, 170 

Sydenham, Thomas, 158 . 

Sydney's England and English in 

the Eighteenth Century, 162 

•tabby-cat, 160 
take a pin of her, 160 
taking place, 168 
tansy, 157 
Tartars, 166 
TaUer, The, 153 
Temple Bar, 174 
Temple Stairs, 173 
tenement falls, 152 
Test Act, 169 

throws down, 169 

Tillotson, Archbishop William, 152 

Tilt Yard, 154 

timbrel, 178 

tippet, 176 

tithe-stealers, 156 

tobacco-stopper, 169 

tongues, the learned, 144 

took off the dress, 153 

trepanned, 171 

tucKer, 156 

tulip-root, 153 

Tully, 147 

tun, 178 

turtles, 151 

vapors, 158 

way, the, 168 

Westminster, city of, 167 

whimsical, 148 

white-pot, 154 

White Witch, 167 

whole and entire, 143 

Widow Trueby's water, 170 

William the Conqueror, 143 

Wimble, 153 

witchcraft, 160 

wits of King Charles's time, 148 

Worcester, battle of, 155 

yeomen of the guard, 154 
vounger brother, 153 



JUN 23 t91l 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



JUN 23 1911 



